


Two Snakes Sound Like A Bar

by CelestialMoonDragon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Genderqueer Character, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Thor (2011), in this day and age?, leave me alone, yes who cares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-10-19 20:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialMoonDragon/pseuds/CelestialMoonDragon
Summary: After Odin collapses, Loki is desperate to leave Asgard. Fortunately, some old friends might just have some space for him.





	1. Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted Loki plus ineffable husbands ok?  
On a related note, the events of Good Omens take place in 2010 because I wanted this to be after that but I also want to explore how their new lives affect the ineffable husbands, so I felt book!canon 1990 was too far back.  
No beta so don't hesitate to point out mistakes.

A crash ripped through the Palace of Asgard, echoing silently down broad corridors in the Royal Wing. The guards did not react, layered spells preventing sound from traveling beyond the green and gold doors that led into the second prince's chambers. 

Inside, Loki raged.

He threw everything he touched, plates and vases and carved wooden figurines. Even his oldest and most precious magical tomes thunked heavy against the walls. He panted, magic swirling green around him, collapsing into a corner.

His life was over. Thor was banished. Father had fallen into the Odinsleep. And he...he was a monster.

He clutched his arms, nails digging into flesh. A Jotun? How could he have not known? How could his parents-. No. How could Odin and Frigga have hidden it from him? Raised him, taught him, loved him? Was it all a game? An experiment? Just something to pass the time, telling a monster that he could be equal to the Golden Prince of Asgard?

Was he nothing more than a tool to make Thor look better?

Loki curled against the wall, slamming a fist against it. Pain bloomed along his hand, but he didn't care. It didn't matter. His world was shattered, pulled out from under him like a rug from unsteady feet. Thor was not his brother, Odin, and Frigga not his parents. He was not a prince, raised to guide his people. He was only a runt, left to die in a cold wasteland by a callous barbarian king.

No one would miss him.

Loki threw himself to his feet, stalking toward his balcony. He could not bear to step outside, into the warm light of his fake home, but the distant rainbow light of the Bifrost shone again the inky darkness of space. He could leave tonight. Frigga had asked him to come to see her tomorrow, stopping him from entering Odin's chamber after the guards and healers who had come at his panicked cries in the Vault. He dreaded facing her. Did she blame him for Odin's collapse? Would she banish or imprison her false son? Odin slept and she was his traditional regent. Thor was to take her place, governing in small stretches until Odin passed or abdicated, but he was banished.

But Loki could leave first. He could get to the bridge.

_ And do what? _ A nasty little voice whispered inside him. _ Travel is forbidden while Odin sleeps. Heimdall will not just let you go. _

He did not need the Bifrost to travel. Knowledge of older, more secret paths had long ago become his. No one would be able to follow him.

_ But where? _

The not-prince turned away, eyes frantic amongst his belongings. He summoned several travel packs, stuffing things neatly into them. Clothes for all types of weather, as many spares as he dared bring. Travel supplies, a bedroll and several magically collapsible tents of various sizes. Several pocket-sized books on Flora and fauna in the nine realms. Thor and the warriors had mocked them endlessly until they ate a poisonous plant. He had packed for many trips and knew the best and most efficient way to go about it. Plus, his pocket dimension meant he didn't have to carry all of it.

_ But where would he go? _

He turned to less essential things next. He wanted to gather everything he owned but even his pocket dimension couldn't hold all of it. Plus, it was impractical to bring a whole library or several formal wardrobes if he wanted to escape quickly. 

He settled for all of his handwritten records, nearly three dozen magically expanding journals, which contained his experiments and many passages copied directly from assorted magical tomes. He'd been writing in them for nearly as long as he's been formally studying magic. A part of him felt stupid lugging them around but an even bigger part refused to allow his false family any profit from studying or selling them. A sorcerer's private notes, especially a powerful one, where priceless in certain parts of the Nine.

_ Vanaheim? _

No. The court would recognize him too easily and be bound by treaty to return him the Asgard if they asked. Even the College of Mages, where he’d gone to study after learning the basics from Figga, wouldn’t be able to protect him. 

_ If they even wanted to. _ Snarled the little voice again. _ Why protect a monster? _

Loki shook himself, unwilling to let himself fall to despair yet. Once he was safe, he could fall apart. Svartalfheim and Niflheim were barren wastelands; Muspelheim too hot and dangerous. Nidavellir and Alfheim had the same extradition treaties as Vanaheim. Jotunheim...was never an option, even if he could bear ever returning to the place that shattered his worldview. That left only one option.

_ Midgard. _

Thor was there.

But that didn't matter. Midgard was primitive compared to the other realms, but its cultures more varied. Some neighbors spoke completely different languages. The lack of unification would allow Loki to more easily hide, slipping in unseen and unnoticed. Even if Thor regained his power, the chances of the Thunderer finding him were extremely low. He had learned how to hide from Heimdall ages ago.

Loki dashed into his private study. A wall tapestry hung behind his desk, a beautiful riot of color depicting Asgard floating in space. He tugged it aside. On the stone behind it, a magical sigil sat etched into the wall. Touching his hand to it, he tugged lightly on his magic. Glowing, the sigil shimmered and then a whole chunk of wall faded way, no bigger than 2 handspans across and tall. Inside, a plain wooden box filled with small chunks of gold and silver as well as several types of gemstones. Nothing too uncommon or rare among the nine and nothing that had any real magical value. He could sell them easily, get enough money to last a while without suspicion. A second box, this one childishly carved with wobbly snakes and uneven trees, contained only four items. A golden hairpin, pulled from his mother’s-Frigga’s hair the first time he’d properly summoned an object. She’d let him keep it, hugging him close in pride and joy.

Not that it mattered now.

Two other items, a clumsily carved snake figure Thor had carved for him as children, and a small child-sized throwing knife gifted from Odin, were in the box as well. He wanted to throw them all away and be done but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he pulled the fourth item out and brought everything to his bags. Both boxes were packed securely into the travel bags and all four bags vanished. He could feel the magical weight, sitting heavy against his ribs. There was nearly too much in the dimensional pocket now. It wasn’t made for extended storage and a bigger pocket required more magic to safely maintain. 

Loki sat down on the bed, glancing around his now much emptier room. The office door lay open and the wardrobe sacked. This life was over now. Absently, he brushed his finger over the fourth item from his jealously guarded sentimental box. Two feathers, one crisp white and the other shiny black, sat against each other. A golden wire threaded between them, keeping them secure. They both still glowed to his magesight, one bright like a sunny day and the other cool as open space. Almost four hundred years had passed and no rot or wear had touched the feathers. Both were as new and powerful as the day he had received them.

_ If you ever need us, dear boy, don’t hesitate to call. _

_ Yeah, us snakes have to stick together. _

Loki may not be welcome in Asgard anymore, but there were other places he could go.


	2. Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1609 London, Midgard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had meant for the Ineffable husbands to finally show up but ya'll get a flashback instead. As usual, no beta. Please point out any heinous mistakes.

_ A dark figure rushed through narrow streets. Behind him, the sound of angry pub patrons split the night.  _

_ Loki cursed. If he could just get far enough away to cast an invisibility spell without being seen, the drunk rabble would not know where he had gone. Midgard was supposed to be safe, it's inhabitants slow and stupid. Fleecing some drunk mortals out of their money should have been easy. But he couldn't resist a contest of words. _

_ One of the card players had challenged him, called it 'a contest worthy of Shakespeare'. Loki had, at first, thought he'd wanted a physical contest but realized that the man intended wit to be their battlefield. The other patrons had jeered, calling the man a champion undefeated. _

_ Well, never let it be said that Loki Silvertongue backed down from a challenge. _

_ Now the stupid man and twenty of his inebriated compatriots were chasing Loki down a side street. The prince spun down another alley, rushing toward the other side of the building. Behind him, the angry mob blocked out the light just as he jumped around the other corner. He panted, eyes shifting. The street ahead was wide and empty. He wouldn't be able to dash into the shade of another building without being seen. There must be somethi-!  _

_ Loki was abruptly yanked sideways. A door clicked firmly closed and he watched through closed cloth curtains as the lights of the mob rushed down the street and out of sight. His panting was loud in the sudden silence. He blinked, throwing himself backward, a long thin knife forming in his hand. _

_ A man stood in front of him. Long bright red hair, dark glasses. The man was well dressed, clothes fashionable but not too expensive. An outfit designed to be noticeable but not note-worthy.  _

_ The redhead smirked, holding his hands out and away from his body. _

_ "I'm not going to hurt you, little trickster." _

_ "Who are you?" spat Loki, "What do you want?" _

_ " Nothing. Well, except to get you away from that angry mob of humans," his grin grew wider, "William would be quite impressed by your flyting." _

_ "Who?" _

_ "William Shakespeare," said the man, "The clever playwright that fellow was so poorly imitating. Been doing it for nearly a week." _

_ Loki raised a brow,  _

_ "Then why not challenge him yourself? If he were so frequently besmirching your friend?" _

_ The man's smirk fell away and he gaped, nothing useful coming out of his mouth. _

_ "Weeeell...I-ngk-"  _

_ It was Loki's turn to smirk, feeling more steady by the moment as the stranger lost his advantage. The prince moved his wrist, subtle magic twisting his next words into a suggestion. Politeness, however false, would also serve to keep the man off guard. _

_ "You seem to know a lot about me. May I ask my rescuer's name in return?" _

_ Loki watched the filigree web of his suggestion spell slip over the stranger's form. Once there, Loki could ask him for any manner of small things, from answering simple questions to spare change. As long as the victim didn't have to think too hard, he could have whatever he wanted. But the trickster didn't get the chance. The man's aura, which had been small and barely lit, flared out. Stars glittered in pitch black, nebulas swirling in space. The tiny room was awash in color, the whole of a galaxy stretched across its plain dirty walls. _

_ This man was not a midgardian. _

_ Loki braced himself for a fight but the stranger just shook himself, undulating strangely and raised a brow. _

_ "How rude," he hissed, arching forward "I would have just ansswered the quesstion." _

_ Loki took a step back, his knife reforming in a flash of green. He tried to tell himself it was not fear, but caution that drove him but he could not shake the prickling on the back of his neck. This creature was old and powerful and  _ ** _dangerous_ ** _ . _

_ The man stopped, eyelashes flickering about his dark glasses. He straightened, shoulders rolling, _

_ "Calm down," he sighed, "I don't really want a fight. My name is Crowley." _

_ He stuck his hand out. Loki eyes him for a moment before flicking his weapon away. _

_ "Loki." _

_ "And what is Loki of the Aesir doing here? You missed the Viking Age by about six centuries." _

_ Loki blinked, _

_ "So you do know what I am. How?" _

_ Crowley laughed, _

_ "You Aesir are not the first to come down from on high and call yourself gods." _

_ " How do you know we are not?" bristled Loki. He did not care whether the mortals called him a god, but the redhead's dismissal of his hypothetical godhood felt like an insult.  _

_ "I know the Almighty," Crowley's eyes darkened, some nameless distress flickering through,  _

_ "You and yours are not old enough nor inexplicable enough to be them." _

_ Loki frowned. He did not care enough to ask this stranger to confide in him, but something about the man drew him in. Loki watched, looking for any physical details that could explain the feeling. He was handsome, but it was not attraction. His aura had retreated, held once again tight against his skin as if it were too big to be contained otherwise. Still, something whispered here is a kindred spirit. _

_ Crowley shook himself again, strangely serpentine. His quiet contemplation slipped away like water and he smiled, mischievous and light. _

_ "You look like you need a place to crash, unless you plan on going back to Aesir-land?" _

_ Loki shook his head. He should say no, leave this odd man and go home. Or at least retreat and explore somewhere the stranger was not in residence. _

_ But he did not want to. _

_ \------------------------------------------ _

_ Loki groaned, rolling over on a soft surface. His head was pounding. It felt like dwarves were digging for gold in his head. Why was he hungover?  _

_ A door thunked closed somewhere close by. Loki rolled again, squinting his eyes open. The curtains in the room were closed. The furniture was plain but well cared for. The bedclothes were unusually soft, evidence of a higher class establishment. His head throbbed and his mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. _

_ Loki pulled himself up, trembling. The last thing he remembered was drinking. A lot. Midgardian alcohols were weaker then Asgardian brews, but it appeared to not matter when you drank thirty bottles between two people. And these mortals didn’t have aesir hangover cure potions.  _

_ Crowley appeared to be nowhere in the room.  _

_ A thunk sounded nearby. Loki slipped to the bedroom door. There was no keyhole and he didn’t want to open it without knowing what was on the other side. _

_ “Really, Crowley?” someone exclaimed from the other side, “An angry mob? Why must you always cause trouble?” _

_ Loki heard Crowley groan in the other room. He sounded just as hungover as Loki. _

_ “Really, angel?” the redhead whined, “Can’t I have one binge in peace? How did you hear about it in the first place?” _

_ “All of London heard about it!” the second person, likely male by the sound, reminded Loki unpleasantly of some of his more irritable tutors. _

_ “The mob wasn’t my fault!” Crowley said, “I rescued some baby aesir taking a little vacation in a shitty pub.” _

_ “An aesir? Why on earth is an aesir here? They had that silly little scuffle with the big blue fellows in the tenth century and then left!” _

_ Loki frowned. He’d never heard anyone refer to the Aesir-Jotun War as a ‘little scuffle’ before. And he was certainly not a child! He was over five hundred years old! Loki grabbed the door, throwing it open heedless of how it made his head throb anew. Crowley sprawled across a daybed, arm thrown over his eyes. In front of him, a blond man with fine pale clothes startled at the bang of the door. He was a bit round, slightly shorter than either Loki or Crowley, and frowning fussily. When he spotted Loki, he smiled. This new stranger made Loki weary and the ease and sincerity with which he smiled didn’t help. In Loki’s experience, people who smiled too much were stupid or hiding something. _

_ “Oh, hello, dear! I hope I didn’t wake you.” _

_ “Didn't care about waking me any,” Crowley muttered against his own elbow.  _

_ The blond man rolled his eyes slightly, bustling forward. Loki stepped back in surprise, arm twitching for his blade. The man smiled again, aura flaring slightly. Loki was almost blinded by the flash. Where Crowley was cool and dark, leaving Loki feeling like a single star cocooned in reassuring black, this man was warm and bright, like being an individual flower beneath the life-giving sun. Both had a feeling of carefully contained power, too small for the flesh and blood that held it. _

_ The man stepped forward again and Loki was too unnerved to do anything about. Left with the uncomfortable feeling that he might perish today, Loki let the man reach out for him. Both hands, soft and uncalloused, cupped his jaw and he had one single moment of regret. He’d never grow old or finish his magic studies or become king or see his mother again- _

_ His head stopped pounding. _

_ Loki blinking, staring at the creature in front of him. _

_ “Well,” the man grinned even wider, if possible, “My name is Aziraphale. Would you like something to eat? The pub downstairs makes some excellent stews.” _

_ What followed were some of the best moments of Loki’s life. He found himself delighting in Crowley’s flair for mischief and thankful for Aziraphale’s appetite for knowledge. Sometimes one or the other would disappear for a week or so, but the two stayed and taught him about Midgard for over three months. For years after, when he had returned home and been scolded by his parents for disappearing, he found himself missing the two immortals and desperate for their company. They didn’t yell or grow angry when he pulled harmless pranks nor did they roll their eyes when he asked why or how something worked the way it did. It felt blasphemous to wish for them at times instead of the family he loved and knew loved him.  _

_ That didn’t stop him from wishing, deep down. _


	3. Ineffable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, our boy is where he belongs!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH! The response to this has been amazing and I live for every single comment. Thank you guys so much! I've been spitting out chapters like crazy because of it. No beta, as usual and three things to note.  
Loki experiences a minor panic attack in this chapter. Nothing graphic or drawn out but it does happen.  
I found this awesome 3D tour of A.Z. Fell and Co. Link here: https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=1889819211100395  
And come visit my Tumblr if you'd like! https://celestialmoondragon.tumblr.com/  
Thank you all so much for everything!

Four centuries had made London look very different. Loki didn’t really care. He knew that this midgardian city would be his best option to find Crowley and Aziraphale. They’d told him stories of every continent on Midgard, but he knew that this was their favorite. He curled his fingers around the feathers, casting out his power around him. There were darker uses for someone’s flesh and blood, such as curses, but these feathers were different. They were more akin to being part of their owners’ essence, a piece of their soul rather than a piece of flesh.

The trust they had to give it away to someone like him still staggered him over four hundred years later.

He’d guarded them zealously, under layers of protection and masking spells as well as physically hiding them. He would not be the reason someone undesirable found them. 

_ How desirable are you, really?  _ whispered the nasty voice inside him,  _ What would they want with a jotun? _

Loki shuttered. He couldn’t give in. He knew that. But the awful little voice whispering his every little doubt was getting harder and harder to ignore. The feathers gave a little magical ping and green swirled away down one of the streets. It looked like Crowley and Aziraphale were together, or at least not on opposite sides of the city. He knew the two usually didn’t spend all their time together. They’d told him as much when he’d stayed with them.

_ “Sometimes we don’t see each other for decades,” Aziraphale had muttered one night drunkenly, “It’s not safe, you understand.” _

_ Crowley had nodded, frowning sadly, and Loki got the impression that he’d give anything to stay as close as Aziraphale would let him. _

They loved each other; it hadn’t taken a master observer to see that, but whatever higher-ups they feared wouldn’t let them be what they wanted. Loki had asked about their superiors, but both of them had smiled tightly and told him not to worry. Their superiors wouldn’t hurt him. 

He hadn’t known how to tell them that he was far more worried about them being happy together than whether their mysterious organizations would hurt him. 

He followed the swirling green wisps through street after street. He’d started in a more modern part of the city but the tracking led him toward older sections. He paid little attention to the actual locations he passed, which would probably bite him later but he had to find them. 

Everything would be alright then.

Midday had been approaching when he arrived and the sun had begun slipping down when finally the green wisps had stopped. Unfortunately, they couldn’t lead him to an exact location as any being with magical senses would be able to feel so strong a tracking. Loki didn’t want to force a tracking like that, especially on people he trusted and to whom he was about to ask for mercy. 

The area he had arrived in was busy, even this late in the day, and seems to be full of various shops, from theaters and pubs to even some that seemed to sell items for sex. Loki slipped through the crowds, eyeing each shop and street name for a clue. Mortals bumped into him and shoved by and Loki wanted to scream. 

_ Go away go away go away _ .

He felt himself stop, but couldn’t make himself move again. The words in the shop windows blurred and the talking around him became a dull roar. Something was wrong. He couldn’t catch his breath.

_ Leave me alone leave me alone. _

Light bloomed across his magical senses and he felt like he was abruptly wrapped in a warm blanket, safe and alone.

“Loki?”

He blinked.

“Loki? Dear, are you with me?”

Loki’s eyes focused finally and he almost teared up immediately. Aziraphale stood in front of him, looking almost the same as he had back then, except for different clothes that seem too old in comparison to the mortals around them. His aura flared and the mortals themselves seemed to unconsciously path around it, creating a bubble around them both. Loki smiled, more broken and watery then he meant to.

“Az-z-Zira.”

“Loki,” Aziraphale smiled back, open and warm, “Hello dear. You seem a tad overwhelmed. Why don’t you come with me?”

Aziraphale held out an arm, giving him the opportunity if he wanted. Gratefully, Loki wrapped his hand around it, letting the other man pull him along the sidewalk. The mortals closed in again but still stayed away, repelled by Aziraphale’s will. He led the younger man down another couple of streets until they arrived at a corner. Loki glanced at the sign.

A.Z. Fell and Co. 

Antiquarian and Unusual Books

He snorted.

“Sounds just like you.”

Aziraphale blushed slightly and patted Loki’s hand like an old granny,

“I distinctly remember you inhaling as many books as I could get my hands on as well, my dear.”

Loki had to admit this was true. While his primary interests were in magic, he loved learning almost just for the sake of it, from flora and history to physics and astronomy. Asgard had all sorts of books and many mortal books on scientific subjects were incomplete or inaccurate. However, mortals had something no other realm did.

Fiction.

The other realms had stories of course but they tended toward ones either based on historical events, such as battles, or shorts ones that existed only to frighten children into behaving or teach lessons. Midgard, however, had entire industries based on mortals throwing whatever they wanted on a page and calling it a story. The better ones had cohesive narratives and coherent syntax, obviously, but the sheer lack of limits placed on them made each one amazing and awe-inspiring. Aziraphale had been the one to show him mortal fiction and it remained their favorite point of mutual interest.

Aziraphale led him into the shop. Loki stared, hands itching to touch each and every book. They were piled high on every surface, strewn about in what Loki knew was a careful parody of disorder. He would bet real gold that Aziraphale knew the exact location of everything he owned and could produce a perfectly accurate inventory as well. Loki may have been meticulous himself but Aziraphale took the word to new and exacting heights. He’s used to pretend Aziraphale was the Head of the Royal Library and pictured him scolding everyone who carelessly left books everywhere in it. There was something about imagining Nobles and Warriors being fussed at like errant children that always made him laugh. 

He couldn’t help himself and let out a childish giggle. Aziraphale smiled indulgently and pulled him into a sitting area. Setting the pale man down on the couch, he sat in front of a cluttered desk and summoned two perfect cups of chamomile tea.

“Now dear, Crowley will be by tomorrow morning. I can call him earlier if you’d like? He was feeling antsy and decided to go cause some mischief or other.”

Loki shook his head. Never let it be said he prevented the performing of mischief.

“I-I have something to ask of you both. But I...don't think I can tell this story more than once,” he couldn’t look the other man in the eye, “So if you don’t mind waiting?”

He almost found himself begging but Aziraphale gently cut him off.

“Of course I can wait,” he soothed, “Now drink your tea. You’re safe here.”

Loki felt himself slowly relax for the first time in days. There was silence in the shop as the two drank tea together. Even the busy sounds of the street outside seems unnaturally muffled. Loki could feel the sunny warmth of Aziraphale’s magic permeating the building as if it had seeped into the stones themselves. A swirl of stars too, like the spinning of a galaxy, drifted through the shop. Crowley spent time here, although it clearly belonged to Aziraphale. He lost himself, worry and fear slipping away as his magical senses flicked through the shop. He felt like a boat, drifting across a calm sea.

Loki snapped awake. Light streamed through cracks in the curtains. He was laying on the same couch, a garishly patterned blanket thrown over him. A plate piled high with eggs, several varieties of meat, some tomatoes, mushrooms, and beans sat on the small table, clear of the books that had been piled on it last night, with another cup of tea. Magic swirled over the whole ensemble, keeping it warm and preventing it from spoiling, as any food sat out for some time would ordinarily do.

An unknown length of time had passed and Loki desperately wanted to go find Aziraphale. The enticing smell of food gave his stomach a different idea though. He suddenly remembered that he hadn't eaten since the light breakfast before Thor’s botched coronation. A feast should have followed but instead, they’d been interrupted as he had planned. But then the whole situation had spiraled; Thor drug them to Jotunheim, he’d discovered the truth-.

Loki shook the awful thoughts away and turned to the food. A quiet half-hour passed as he purposely focused on just the food, banishing any other thoughts away. He was becoming quite nervous as Aziraphale failed to reappear. He knew he was still in the shop, could still feel the magic of it floating in the air, but it was at least the next day at the very least. The sun was too high for it to be any earlier than midday again.

The room otherwise looked the same as it had last night, books piled haphazardly here as well. He couldn’t see any other doors, which made him wonder where the bathroom, kitchen or bedroom was, but he supposed it didn’t matter at the moment. The rest of the shop was visible through the bookshelves but it appeared empty.

A bell interrupted the silence, the shop entrance opening and closing. Two sets of footsteps walked closer. Loki stiffened, still afraid of being caught by Asgard, but relaxed again as two familiar magical signatures registered.

Aziraphale was back and he’d brought Crowley. The two stepped around the sales counter. Crowley’s hair was short now and his clothes much more modern than his companion’s. They were all three in a different place with wildly different styles and customs than when they met, but still, Loki felt reduced to a teenager again. He may have now been over a thousand, past the aesir age of majority, but Odin and Frigga still lectured him for being childish or immature or selfish. They’d always tell him that Thor didn’t intend to hurt him or that he wasn’t really jealous of his not-brother. Aziraphale and Crowley had never treated him as less than someone who knew his own thoughts and emotions, even when he was young.

“What’cha doing here, snakelet?” Crowley nearly whispered, as if afraid to break the silence, “You look sad.”

“Not that we’re not glad to have you, dear,” Aziraphale butted in, “We’re happy to have you any time.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, visible even behind his ever-present dark glasses,

“Of course we’re glad to see you. He knows that, angel.”

Aziraphale moved about fussily, vanishing the empty plate and summoning instead a dark bottle of scotch. He poured three small glasses, handing them out and smiling gently,

“A little liquid courage, hmm? There you go, my dears.”

Crowley took his glass and flopped down next to Loki. He raised it and let Loki gently tap them together,

“Cheers, snakelet,” he smirked.

Loki took a small sip. It was good, going down rich and smooth. Obviously, a single glass could not get him drunk but he got the feeling that wasn’t the point here. He clutched the glass in his lap. He watched the others, both of whom were watching him without actually looking, perhaps to give him some privacy. He opened his mouth, to greet them or thank them or even to ask what they’d been up to since he’d seen them last.

Instead, the story spilled out like water.

He started with the foolish plan to expose Thor’s hubris with the frost giant excursion, tripped right into the fear and anger and  _ disgust  _ as his armor had cracked away and his arm had turned blue and fell at last to the disastrous confrontation with Odin, where the old man had collapsed and Loki had decided to escape. By the end, he was panting, eyes prickling. He mashed the heel of his hands into his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry.

“Fuck ‘em.”

“Crowley!”

The tension cut like a punctured waterskin, fizzing away as Crowley leaped up,

“No! Who takes a kid like that? He had no idea if Loki was abandoned! And then lies about it his whole life? Lets others tell him awful stories about the jotun! How dare-”

Loki wasn’t even hearing the words anymore. Crowley was  _ mad. _ Not at him, but  _ for him _ . He’d never seen anyone rage at Odin before. All of Asgard was too blind or too afraid to criticize the king at all, let alone tear at him like Crowley was. He paced back and forth between Loki and Aziraphale, almost knocking into the tiny table but Loki flicked a finger and it reappeared on the other side of Aziraphale. The blond beamed at him.

“The old coot! I’ll show him-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exploded, “Sit down. Yelling and threats will not help.”

Crowley huffed, slumping back into his seat. He reached out slowly, tugging Loki into his side. It was kind of awkward, as Loki may have been graceful, but his body was not designed to periodically forget he had bones. Nonetheless, Loki felt only comforted.

Aziraphale smiled at his two boys, somehow scooting his chair forward without getting up or expanding any real effort at all. He reached out, curling one manicured hand around Loki’s. 

“I’m sorry. I know these last few days have been rough for you,” he looked Loki in the eyes, “But I want you to know that there is absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

Loki wanted to look away, hide from the earnest truth in that blue gaze, but Crowley had trapped him, shoulder now blocking his head. The redhead stroked down his arm soothingly. Aziraphale pet his hand.

“I don’t know Odin and Frigga personally, although you spoke fondly of them before, but I don’t believe they’d have raised you for a thousand years if they didn’t want you,” he whispered. Loki wanted to howl, yell out interruptions and accusations, but he continued without pause,

“But I also know that someone else’s intentions don’t matter very much when something they did hurt you so deeply,” soothed Aziraphale, “And for that, I am truly sorry. I will not ask you today to give them the benefit of the doubt. This is about you. Whatever you decide, whenever you decide it, we will help you.”

Loki teared up again, twisting to hide in Crowley’s chest. He really didn’t want to cry again today.

“I don’t know what they intended,” the vibrations traveled against Loki’s face, “But I know they bollixed it up.”

Loki huffed out a laugh. The trio let in silence for a while, Aziraphale sipping tea and Crowley continuing to stroke up and down Loki’s arm. Loki felt his composure slowly return and finally pulled himself away from the redhead. Crowley let him go. 

“Now you’re welcome to stay with us, as long as you’d like,” Aziraphale blushed, “Although I don’t actually have a bedroom…”

“It's filled with books,” Crowley hissed in his ear, “He vanished the bed to store more.”

Loki laughed again and Aziraphale glared at his old friend, certain that it was his doing somehow.

“Crowley can surely put you up though,” he continued, “That big empty flat surely has a second bedroom.”

“Not at the moment,” Crowley returned, “But it can. Better to physically remodel it, instead of using a miracle.”

Loki knew this. Careful observation of the two’s particular brand of ‘magic’ revealed that it was based less on actual magical principles and more on them exerting their vast wills on the physical world around them. As such, any alterations short of physically teleporting objects tended to fade away if neither were actively thinking about it. He’d rather that not happen to his sleeping chambers, especially with him in it. That made him think about something else though.

“I was surprised to discover you two were together. You usually aren’t this close to each other on account of your ‘bosses’.”

The two smiled at each other, more open and bespotted than he’d ever seen them use. They were usually meticulously careful to never show too much about how they felt. Usually, Loki found one of them and then had to wait as they sent a careful secret message to the other, who would visit briefly and then leave again. It had been a little less than two centuries since his last visit, however.

“Well, you haven’t visited recently.” Aziraphale exhaled, “I suppose we ought to tell you the whole story. It all began in a Garden…”


	4. Meanwhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see what everyone else has been up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy exposition, batman! Also, anyone who didn't read the title in a Spongebob voice is required by law to go do so now.  
No beta blah blah  
I feel like the chapters are getting longer.  
Enjoy!

Frigga watched Odin as he lay still and silent on the bed. She'd ruled Asgard for nearly three months while he slept and she was more than ready for him to return. Rulership was meant to be a shared burden, this time especially. They'd planned it so well. Thor would ascend to the throne, tempered by Frigga's experience, as he and Loki learned together what it meant to be king. Not the glory and the feasts, but the long hours looking over reports of harvests and logistics. The days spend looking over laws and regulations in preparation for Court Days, where the populace brought grievances big and small to be deliberated by the Court of Law.

Instead, it had all fallen apart.

Her sons had both vanished, Thor by a last desperate act of Odin and Loki by seemingly his own accord. She'd been furious when Odin had come back and told her what he'd done to Thor. She'd wanted to yell and scream but doing so would not get him to listen. So she'd looked him in the eye and asked why.

_ "His bloodlust was mindless, thoughtless. Reason was so far beyond him, I thought that he'd attempt to attack me as well. All our words of caution and peace have fallen on deaf ears. He was so certain of his own righteousness, it seemed my only option. I imagine his arrogance is our doing, but I had hoped the new responsibilities would temper him. Now, he has potentially started a war and given Jotunheim unimaginable leverage at the negotiation table. It seemed like my only option, drastic as it was. Thor must learn what it is like to be less before he can become truly great." _

Frigga was not certain she agreed with his assessment, but she understood it. Odin's father, Bor, had been a tyrant. His defeat of the Dark Elves early in his reign, however necessary, had awoken in the man a lust for domination. He'd built the Bifrost and with it, conquered all of the Nine. Odin had been born in that bloody period and raised to fight in it. It had eventually cost him his brothers Vili and Ve, both of whom died in combat with their father, and finally his mother Bestla. She'd been Laufey's elder sister, given to Bor as a warbride, and the trauma of it had ruined her life. She had loved her children despite everything and Odin had loved her in return enough to allow her to go home. He never saw her again and she'd lived out her life secluded in the Crystal Palace of Jotunheim. A hundred years exactly after she died, Laufey had invaded Midgard.

Odin ascended the throne and worked diligently to repair Asgard's reputation. He returned relics, paid wergilds and rebuilt the decimated governments of conquered worlds. He returned royal hostages to their homes and returned their sovereignty. He created the Council of Nine, in which every world, except Midgard, got a say and none were above the others. Even after the Aesir-Jotun war, Jotunheim did not lose their place on the Council, although Laufey seems most concerned with simply opposing whatever Odin suggested. Midgard had no suitably advanced unifying government, so it had remained under Odin's rule. The subsequent invasion by Jotunheim had seen the Giants heavily censored by the Council and no one argued the removal of the Casket of Ancient Winters. 

It was the careful consideration for past wrongs that had first attracted Frigga to him. Her sister Gerdr had just married Freyr, prince of Vanaheim, and Frigga had been brought into court as her handmaiden. She had no expectations, of course, being the second daughter of a minor noble, so no one had been more surprised than her when Odin had begun to carefully court her. He'd approached her tentatively, more afraid of being seen as a domineering tyrant than any rejection she might have offered. Eventually, after an appropriate first courting period, she'd accepted his invitation to visit him in Asgard. She'd loved the bright airy city, floating impossibly on a flat piece of the crust of its former circular planet. The story went that Bor ripped it away using sheer will and magic after a catastrophic disaster caused by early Bifrost experiments rendered most of the world uninhabitable. Odin had shared some of the histories of the place with her and told her of his many fears and burdens, including the heavy load of the Odinforce, which was the collective name of the magics that held Asgard aloft, and the vulnerabilities it gave him. 

They courted for some time after and she'd used her rapidly growing diplomacy skills to help Odin return Alfheim to its former glory. Queen Aelsa was understandably wary of the son of the man who had murdered her six brothers and four uncles, leaving only her ill father to be his puppet. She'd narrowly escaped becoming his concubine as well, saved only by her groveling father and the fact she was too young to bear children. 

Jotunheim had escaped the worst of Bor's bloodlust by surrendering immediately and giving their heir to him as a wife. Svartalfheim was a barren wasteland. Sindri, then king of Nidavellir, gave his people into service as Bor's craftsmen, crafting for him Gungnir and saving themselves from destruction. Odin rewrote that treaty in its entirety, giving first Sindri and than his sons Eitri and Brokkr control of their own forges. They crafted for him still, as well as having a thriving export trade, and gifted him Mjolnir for the birth of Thor. The 'birth' of Loki had seen him gifted Skidbladnir, a magically compacting skiff that could travel in both air and sea.

Odin shifted on the bed, the first real movement he'd made since being laid there. She knew he had gone to speak to Loki at her request after he had told her what happened on Jotunheim. Loki had not bothered to conceal himself or his companions, so the whole situation had been watched by Heimdall, including Loki's traumatic discover. She'd urged him to go reassure their sensitive child before the sleep took him, but they'd both underestimated the strain the last day had placed on him. She'd thought, perhaps foolishly, that they'd had some time to converse and resolved to speak to Loki herself in the morning. Odin had to be settled and examined. A formal announcement had to be made so the people would not panic if Odin were not seen for a while. Loki was distraught, she knew, but she thought that he would be too tired after the day to do more than fall asleep. She'd underestimated his stubbornness or perhaps his turmoil and she had paid for it.

Her precious boy was gone and she didn't know where.

Heimdall could not see him, although he searched every day. She'd inquired discreetly amongst his haunts in Asgard. His former teachers at the College of Mages had been asked to notify her if he came seeking refuge. She'd even swallowed her pride and beseeched Laufey during the tense renegotiations for peace. The king may have been bitter, but he was not stupid.

_ "My son died in the Temple at the end of the war. His mother mourned him so much she wasted away. My second wife has given me two strong heirs since. What you have made of the boy Odin saved is no concern of mine. I would not shelter him even if he came to me for aid." _

It was perhaps a harsh stance on the situation, but Frigga knew Jotunheim could not handle a crisis of secession right now. Laufey's firstborn had been dead and buried for a thousand years and to resurrect him now as a man raised, however unintentionally, to distrust his own kind by their enemies would cause a social and political scandal across both Asgard and Jotunheim. No, better to let Loki remain the second born of Asgard and leave Laufey's first son to fade into history.

Still, she wondered. What could she and Odin have done better? She'd always extolled acceptance and tolerance but the days after the war had not been the place to preach. They'd let Asgard lick the wounds, let dead children be put to rest. And then she'd had two small boys to look after and administrative duties to perform and social events to host. Odin had been equally as busy. It had never seemed the right time to heal the rifts between Jotunheim and Asgard, so they'd let it fester. The other realms had seen their example and acted similarly, perhaps out of an old fear of defying Asgard. Now, an insurmountable schism existed between the realms and Frigga was not certain it could heal. Asgard was especially at fault, a deeply entrenched hate boiling beneath the surface and her little Loki had suffered the most from it. She could not imagine hating herself but she feared he now did. She feared what he would do that hate.

\--------------

Thor panted, sweating in the afternoon heat, as he lifted another bag of concrete mix into the mixer. It was another hot day in New Mexico and August was nearly over now. Jane said that it would begin to cool off in another couple of months as Yule approached. Midgardians, Erik said, had many winter celebrations, the most common in these parts being Christmas. Thor was eager to see the similarities and differences between the two, although he despaired not celebrating with his family.

They had not come for him. Three months was not the longest amount of time he'd gone without seeing Loki or their parents, but it had always been his choice before. He'd been so certain Odin would relent; right up until he'd beat his way into the temporary SHIELD facility and tried to lift his hammer out of the dirt.

It didn't budge.

The center mixer had finished and Thor carefully poured it into the wood beam square. The patio he was helping to build was coming along nicely. It was sweaty and miserable but these last two months had been an unexpected boon.

He had been utterly inconsolable after failing to lift his hammer. Coulson had interrogated him before eventually releasing him. Several tense days had gone by as SHIELD sought information, eventually setting for a tentative partnership in which Jane took a job and shared her research in return for Thor receiving a 'visitor visa,' which allowed him temporary residence in this country. He didn't think he'd ever get used to having to have paperwork to travel within a single realm, a product of Earth's many and varied governing bodies. Jane, Erik, and Darcy had tried to help him adjust in their own ways and Thor tried to return the favor by sharing his knowledge of the wider universe.

Turns out, Thor was not a great teacher. He tried to give her what he'd learned in school as a child but became frustrated when she asked him questions he did not have the answers to. She was forever asking why, an admirable trait for a scientist, but an awful headache for someone who had always accepted his teachings as fact. The reveal that Asgard was no longer an actual planet had caused her to scream and she would not accept 'the magics of the Odinforce' as an acceptable reason a thin sliver of the crust could support life. It had lead to a fight, both of them yelling at 2 in the morning. Erik had cut them both off and suggested Thor occupy his time elsewhere.

Darcy jokingly suggested that he get a job since he ate a great deal and Jane's ex's couple of changes of clothing would not last forever. Thor had been reluctant, as it seemed one step closer to accepting that he'd never go home, but Erik jumped at the idea. They couldn't support Thor for much longer. He'd helped Thor approach Coulson on the matter. Coulson was sympathetic but after an evaluation, he told them that Thor may have been unusually strong and physically trained, but he was an ill fit for the subtleties of sensitive spy work. Plus, he'd said blandly, the unknown political ramifications of having a god-prince become essentially a mercenary for a foreign national power were messy. Thor may have not paid as much attention in his diplomacy classes as he should have, but even he understood the sound reasoning behind that. Instead, Coulson helped expedite a change in visa types, a 'work visa' now, which allowed Thor to seek legal work elsewhere. After a few disastrous interviews, caused by either Thor's lack of knowledge or prospective employer's lack of respect, he settled with Jose's Handymen.

Jose was a nice older Latino man, born and raised in New Mexico, who knew from his parents what it was like to struggle in a new county. He saw this big blond, broad as a barn and twice as tall and knew that passing him up would be a waste. Thor had had no real experience or marketable skills but those could be taught. He welcomed the man to his small team. Thor, he discovered, learned fast and had a big, friendly personality. The other handymen had taken to calling him  _ oro grande _ within a week of meeting him. He was smart and willing to learn, even if some ordinary everyday things seemed to confuse him, such as cellphones and microwavable meals.

Thor himself was reluctant to settle down, no matter how welcoming everyone had been. It felt like letting Asgard and his old life go. He felt his family slipping away, each day another water droplet drying away in the hot sand.

Then his mother had visited.

He'd nearly burst into tears walking home after work one night, two months into his stay on Earth. She had looked radiant, shimmering in the cooling air and she smiled. He threw himself forward to hold her and slipped right through the illusion of her body. She waited patiently as he picked himself up and then apologized.

"I'm sorry, Thor, for not coming sooner. Heimdall kept an eye on you, but you left quite a mess."

Thor flushed, filled suddenly with shame. Earth had been an eye-opening experience, with so many different peoples crammed so close together. He knew it was not perfect, of course. The old Russian lady who ran the coffee shop occasionally got side-eyed by other people her age. Erik said it was a product of something called the 'cold war'. Thor had almost hit the man who had spat in kind Jose's face and his boss had sat him down with his other employees and had a long hard talk about what skin color meant to some people. He'd traveled to the library after, with Erik, and read some books on segregation and colonization and genocide.

Thor did not understand the Jotuns and he wasn't sure he ever would, but the awful way he had slung around accusations and then slaughtered people defending their home by order of their king suddenly sat awful and acidic in his stomach. 

"Is there anything I can do?" He begged, "It's all my fault. I'm the one to bla-"

"Shhhh," she soothed, " I have appeased Laufey. It cost us the Casket of Ancient Winters, but we remain at peace."

"Is it wise to give it back?" he asked.

"We had little choice. It was that or risk open war. Or censor before the Council of Nine. Perhaps it was time to return what was theirs."

Thor flushed harder, 

"I'm sorry."

"You should be," his mother admonished, "Your actions could have caused a war that would have split the realms apart. Countless could have died."

Thor felt small, lesser even than the dirt upon the ground. It had always been about what he wanted when he wanted. He wanted to hunt and he wanted to drink. He didn't want to study or to listen. Looking back, Thor found himself repulsed by the conceited brat he saw.

"Oh, my baby," his mother's intangible hands hover around his face, "That you see your flaws is the first step to grow beyond them. What is life but growing? Whether you are a tree or an animal or a man, we are always growing."

Thor sniffed and dried his tears. The conversation shifted to other things. Father had fallen asleep. She told him his father's words about the spell that kept him here and said that all he had to do was stay on the path of growth he had begun. She didn't know how long it would take but she wouldn't let Odin leave him here forever. She began to cry then, telling him the news of his brother, who had fled Asgard after his terrible discovery.

"HOW COULD YOU?" he raged, feeling sicker by the second, "Our nursemaids told us stories about being eaten by the Jotuns. Warriors bragged about how we'd grow up and kill them. Teachers counseled us to always be ready for their treachery. And Loki was born one? You know how he is. Do you not think that he recalled every single thing ever said about the Jotuns in his presence? Every insult, every murderous thought...even I-"

"I KNOW!"

Thor stopped, startled. He had never heard his mother raise her voice, even when scolding them as children. She looked shattered, gutted and older than he'd ever seen her. He was struck suddenly by the fact that his parents were neither perfect nor immortal. It was a truth that all children eventually face about their parents, but Thor found only heartbreak in the intrusive thought.

"We have all of us done wrong in ways we did not expect," the Allmother said, "And I can only hope we get the chance to be better."

The conversation turned happier for a time. Thor told her about all the people he'd met and the things he had learned. She'd smiled, giving him some much-missed advice and told him how Asgard was doing in his absence. Finally, as the sun began to peek over the horizon, she'd mimicked kissing him and faded away with the dawn. He'd had to call in the next day he was so exhausted, citing troubling family news from home. Jose had been understanding, telling him to come to him if he had any problems.

That had been almost a month ago, now, and Thor worried for his brother. He shared the story with Jane and the others, grateful for any advice and solace they were willing to offer. Darcy said that maybe Loki just needed some time. Erik had remarked on the difference from Norse myth. Jane admitted to not having any real advice but noted that she was sorry for both of them. He'd told Jose to, although he sanitized the story to remove his 'alien shit' as Darcy put it. The man frowned, 

"Is this brother of yours coming here?"

"I don't know," said Thor, "I hope he does if he has to go anywhere. Mother worries about his state of mind."

Jose nodded,

"Got a picture?"

Thor shook his head, apologizing. Erik had helped him make up a story about losing all his bags on the flight from Norway, to explain his lack of personal effects. The man nodded again,

"Well tell us what he looks like and we'll tell the rest of the guys. Maybe someone's nosy  _ abuelita  _ will spot  _ pequeno oro  _ before he gets into too much trouble, eh?"

Thor laughed in relief, telling him that gold was the last thing he'd use to describe his brother. They’d left the office together laughing and Thor thanked each of the men willing to pass the information along to their families. Coulson was informed, although he said he could not use resources to find Loki on Earth unless he drew SHIELD’s attention to himself. Thor continued as he had been. This trial had so far turned into one of the most rewarding and most stressful experiences he had ever had. Another month passed. Thor began to enjoy himself but still, he wondered.

Would he ever be able to go home again?


	5. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes and people grow.

Laughter spilled through the busy London streets. It was several hours past nightfall and the crowds in Soho were beginning to thin. Three voices sounded again but it was not their carefree giggling that attracted attention.

In the center, an older man, pudgy and dressed in a formal but hopelessly outdated black suit. Anyone who had an idea of fashions would know it was, in fact, Victorian in style. Black, with shimmering green embroidery over a crisp white button-up. Odd for sure, but unremarkable. In truth, it was his companions that drew the eye. Two beautiful women, both towering over their companion. The woman on the left wore an elegant black dress, shoulders barred as the fabric shimmered in the streetlights. Her open-toed heels revealed emerald nail polish, mirrored on her slim hands. She had one silver cuff earring and one that dangled, both shaped like snakes with glittering black eyes. A silver necklace wrapped around her graceful throat, spiraling out over her clavicle. It was also snake-shaped. Red hair piled stop her head, a complicated bun that artfully spilled hair down her neck. She was stunning and several people nearly tripped over themselves.

The other woman appeared younger, but mirrored her companion exactly, except that her stylish dress was green and her nails black. The eyes on her silver jewelry glowed green. Her hair was left to fall freely to her shoulders, no less styled than her companion's.

Crowley could feel the envy following them down the street. She may have been retired, but she'd facilitated human sin for over six millennia. It seemed a waste of effort to try to stop herself now. Humans did it mostly themselves anyway. She glanced to her side, watching her angel radiate uncomplicated joy to the humans around them. It was probably the only thing preventing the braver men from making a move.

She'd used to think he did it accidentally, unable to properly pull in his true self down into his corporation. It had taken nearly two thousand years for her to realize the truth.

Aziraphale rarely did anything by accident.

He played at clumsiness, bumbling around in absent-minded politeness because it made him seem unremarkable. Humans dismissed him, usually with a sense of awkwardness or pity. Still, he projected often, giving the people around him a precious gift as he relieved them of worry and stress for a time. She wondered if he knew how much she valued the kindness he gave without expectation of reward. 

Especially when he gave it to her. The years that passed didn't seem to matter when she felt the shadow of a phantom wing shielding her from that cold first rain. 

Aziraphale giggled again, flicking his shop floor open. He bowed, gesturing the ladies in front of him. The door closed behind them and the noise from the street faded away. Loki and Crowley had already collapsed on a couch, both rolling their ankles.

"I'd forgotten how much these things hurt after a while," Crowley groaned, "C'mon, angel."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, tugging the offending heels off her feet and placing them gently into their shoebox, which had appeared on his desk. Loki examined her shoes, a foot sticking out. Like the rest of her outfit, the shoes were unfamiliar to her, but Crowley (and Crowley's tailor) had assured her they were the height of fashion.

"I like how tall they make you," she mused, "But they are quite uncomfortable."

"Some would say you two are too tall for heels," Aziraphale motioned to her feet, "But then some need to learn to think before they speak."

He waited for Loki's nod before slipping her shoes off as well. Loki sunk into the couch behind her. Tea appeared. She sipped it. Her eyes slipped closed. The last three months have been amazing. She'd hardly had any cause to think about Asgard and the people she left behind. Crowley and Aziraphale had whisked her off, showing her what felt like every eatery and garden in the whole of London. Tonight, they'd gone to see a play and dined at the Ritz after. The wait staff had been almost bursting, giddy for gossip as the two regulars brought an unknown third with them.

Crowley rolled her shoulders and checked her phone, 

"The contractor said that the remodel has been finished. We can move all our stuff back in tomorrow."

"Good," Loki said, "The couch has begun to give me a backache. Speaking of which..."

She pulled a piece of paper from thin air, brandishing it. Her companions raised simultaneous eyebrows.

"It's the spell for a Gate Door. You place the two sigils on separate doors and it connects them," she pointed toward the skylight, "That storage closet upstairs has nothing but a rotting broom in it. We could connect it to the hall closet in the flat, thus allowing quick travel between them."

Crowley and Aziraphale stared at her and she grew nervous,

"We don't have to, of course," she tried to sound uncaring.

"Oh!" Aziraphale exclaimed, "No that's brilliant. Thank you for the kind thought."

"Yeah," Crowley blushed, "Maybe I'd get to see this one at home more often."

" Oh, you love making out against the books," quipped Aziraphale.

Loki rolled her eyes. Crowley, for all her talk of sin and debauchery, could barely mention sex without getting nervous. Aziraphale, on the other hand, could make a prostitute blush, although Loki dearly hoped she never had to witness such an event.

"Well, would you like to go tonight?" Crowley asked, "We could sleep in real beds again!"

She summoned two sets of slip-on shoes. Neither went at all well with the fancy dresses they wore, but Loki was certainly not going to ask for the heels back. They piled in the Bentley, barked illegally outside the shop. Aziraphale insisted on taking the back, which was unusual, but he insisted Loki not attempt to climb back there in her nice dress.

Crowley drove like a maniac, as usual, and Aziraphale fussed about it, as usual. Loki let the soothing sound of their bickering wash over her. Aziraphale and Crowley had this argument so often, it was nearly second nature. Instead, the two immortals watched their unexpected charge.

The first month had been rough. Loki had been terrified of being found and hid day and night in the shop, casting spells to hide himself. Aziraphale had finally had to ask him to stop, as the concentrated magical residue had the unexpected side effect of causing him to sneeze. Angels did not sneeze and he certainly didn't enjoy it. 

Loki lurked, acting as meek and helpful as possible, fearful that they would get tired of him and ask him to leave. Crowley started asking his opinion on floor plans and paint colors, desperate to show him that he was welcome to stay. Aziraphale resorted to having him recategorize the shop. Loki insisted that sorting alphabetically by the last word wasn't a helpful sorting system.

"It's as valid as any other sorting system!" Aziraphale insisted.

"Particularly when you're trying to frustrate people so they don't buy any," snickered Crowley.

Eventually, when no great golden army appeared to take him away, Loki relaxed a little. Then the real fun began. They took him everywhere, to the parks and restaurants and gardens. Loki insisted they didn't have to escort him all the time, but they told him it was refreshing. Loki helped them in many ways and perhaps someday they'd tell him. 

The apocalypse had changed everything. They'd known it would, of course. The sweet relief of sitting together in the Ritz after had been intoxicating. For weeks after, they'd look at each other and marvel that they were free. They could do what they wanted when they wanted.

With who they wanted.

But freedom, it turned out, was a double-edged sword when you were so used to the opposite. Days became endless. They took trips around London and stayed in too, but time never seemed to pass. Before, they had routines. While away time, get an assignment, complete it and while away more time. They did it differently, of course, but it was the same basic idea. Sometimes, they'd have to use the Arrangement to get something done efficiently or on time, but they both watched for the next assignment.

Then, it wasn't there. 

There was suddenly no goal, no light shining at the end of the tunnel. It was like someone had flattened a waterfall into more rive and then removed the stones making a path across. Being free together, no longer beholden to heaven or hell, was an unquestionable gift but the uninterrupted stretch of time in front of them had been daunting.

They learned slowly, as June slid into September and the winter holidays approached. Some days were worse than others, one or both of them struggling and hurting. Summer came around again and an unexpected gift arrived. Aziraphale had been reading at his desk when a sense of panic splashed across his perception. 

Emotion was easy for angels to sense, particularly positive ones such as love and happiness. Demons were the same, except they could more easily sense negative feelings. It had taken him and Crowley both centuries to filter and control their natural empathy. He suspected that it was half the reason demons and angels avoided coming to Earth more often. That and their mutual view of humans as lesser.

This panic felt different though. It was almost as if a human wasn't producing it. He stepped outside his shop. The feeling came from down the street. He followed it and found something he did not expect. Loki hadn't visited them in nearly two centuries. He pulled the young man out of his panic and brought him back to the shop. After soothing the boy to sleep, he called Crowley.

The next three months proved to be a boon. Crowley and he counseled Loki when he needed it but otherwise left him to figure out his own emotions. They took him to places around London that they loved and delighted in his new perspective. They got to see the world not as themselves, who had seen and done so much that sometimes nothing seems new anymore, but through the eyes of a relatively new tourist of humanity.

It was refreshing.

The Bentley screeched to a stop in front of the metal and glass monstrosity that Crowley called home. Aziraphale stayed over some nights, but they spent just as many in the bookshop. The remodel drove them out of the building completely but they paid good money to get it done quickly. The huge penthouse would now have two bedrooms. There was a small office and library but Aziraphale was forbidden to bring more books than could fit on the shelves.

"If we let him bring any, the flat will end up like the shop," Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale pouted at him, which usually made him fold like a deck of cards, but he pulled together every ounce of will he had and practically begged his angel to agree. The library had been a compromise. The bedrooms were large, with massive en suites and closets for both.

"We don't actually produce waste," Aziraphale told Loki, " But baths are nice and there's no real reason to share if we don't need to."

The kitchen had been redone entirely, appliances the best available. Aziraphale liked to cook on occasion and Loki required sustenance. The ailing plants that Crowley hid there to preserve his reputation with his garden were moved to a secondary room in the long greenhouse that covered an entire side of the building.

"They should know how they failed me," he wailed, "That's the only reason I keep them!"

Aziraphale kissed him, gentling the frazzled man like a skittish horse. Loki cackled in the background. The living room was spacious, the former minimalistic approach sacrificed for a cozy place for them to sit together and bask in each other's presence. The television was obnoxiously massive. Crowley had insisted, even though no one ever turned it on.

They each left to change into more comfortable clothes. Crowley and Loki came back in silk pajamas. Aziraphale had his soft cardigan and a bottle of wine. The whole place had been turned from something Crowley merely owned into a wonderful home for them to share. Loki felt something in his throat.

"Do you like it, dear?" Aziraphale smiled, "You don't have to stay any longer than you'd like, but you are welcome."

Loki felt full to bursting, gratitude and love and relief choking him,

"You have both been generous beyond measure," he gasped, "More generous than I deserve-"

"No!" Crowley threw himself over the sofa, slithering right up into Loki's space, "That's a steep hill to slide down. Never  _ ever _ question that you deserve the world."

Loki blinked in shock. Crowley was a prankster, prone to mildly annoying everyone around him, but he'd never yelled like that before. He tempted and cajoled and occasionally whined but Loki had never heard him yell. Aziraphale watched them both, tight-lipped and anxious. Crowley let out a big sigh, gold eyes looking anywhere but the people around him, 

"look, I know what it's like, okay? That little voice telling you that you're not worth what it. That you're an inconvenience. That you can never be good enough or grateful enough for the kindnesses you're given."

Aziraphale gasped softly, tugging Crowley's hand into his own. He pressed a kiss to the back, holding it against his lips. Crowley squeezed but otherwise didn't him. Instead, he raised his gaze to Loki's.

"Our mother abandoned us too. She threw half of us into fire and brimstone for disagreeing with her. I'm not saying all demons are redeemable because there are some fucked up bastards down there but she never told us  _ why _ ."

His voice cracked and Aziraphale pulled him close, curling his bulk around the skinny demon. Crowley tucked himself against his lover's chin, shuddering. Aziraphale watched Loki.

"The Fall was devastating. The Celestial Choir sings through all of Heaven, a chorus made of every angel in existence. Between one moment and the next, it became discordant. Notes were missing, lost with those that fell. It's the absolute worst thing about going up there. Hearing the holes and not knowing who should have filled them."

" Do you...do you not know who fell?" Loki whispered.

"Not really," he shook his head, "All names accept Lucifer's were burned in the instant of the Fall. Demons do not remember their holy names and Heaven's records vanished."

Loki knew well the feeling when Odin made a decision and refused to explain it. When he stood in the vault and told Loki a story that didn't really make sense. Why would Jotunheim's king leave his child alone and exposed during a war? Why would Odin take an abandoned child and raise it as a prince? The questions burned but Loki found himself unwilling to face his former parents long enough to get answers. 

He wondered how much worse the feeling could get if your parent was That Which Created All Things.

Crowley sniffed quietly as Aziraphale rubbed his arm.

"I have to believe the Almighty has a purpose," Aziraphale confided, "Maybe free will is the purpose. For everyone to choose as they wish. But sometimes even I look around and ask why people must suffer? Why angels and demons and all mortal brings have to cause each other pain. God is ineffable and sometimes that's what hurts the most."

"Maybe that's it," Loki whispered, "Maybe the day all living beings stop hurting each other is the day we'll truly meet the Creator."

The moon broke through the clouds, casting soft light across the room. Crowley snorted and Aziraphale beamed. Loki couldn't help but giggle. They collected their wine glasses, placing them in the sink. Loki would bet his magic books that no one would actually do the dishes and yet the sink would be dry and empty the next day. They retired to their rooms. Loki fell asleep almost immediately, dreaming of a world where the thought of Asgard never bothered him again. The two immortals cuddled in bed, talking about the nature of living species, but soon they fell asleep curled around each other.

\-----------------------

Time passed as time was want to do. The universe turned and the beings in it changed and grew. On Earth, the winter holidays swung around. New Mexico grew colder and Thor began to resign himself to a mortal life. Yule and Christmas came and went and the new year dawned. He raged, angry and distraught but the fear in his friends’ eyes made him see how destructive he could be. He wondered if Loki or Sif and the Three ever feared him. How much worse could he be with the awesome power of Mjolnir? 

How much worse had he already been?

Once again, he was drawn to Jotunheim and the splintering of ancient crystal structures as he carelessly threw his hammer around. To the warm spray of blue blood as a starving people threw themselves desperately against his might. The fire in his blood faded and he was left once again with only the icy feeling of guilt. What kind of prince could he be, determined to destroy in his pursuit of glory? 

He thought back to his history lessons; the way his father spoke of his own father. The awful legacy of Bor that Odin had spent his whole life making amends for. Is that what he would have become? Bor the Butcher? Bor the king who conquered whole worlds and left them bleeding and dying in his wake?

He knew he’d done good in his life. He remembered the relief of villages across the realms he’d helped save from bandits and pirates and raging monsters. He knew the joy on his people’s faces as he strolled through Asgard’s streets. This is, he thought, what his father wanted him to learn. Actions had consequences and his position of power meant his actions affected more than just him. He could either be a beacon of honor and light or be remembered as a violent, monstrous man.

Thor tried to imagine a galaxy torn apart by his own doing. He knew he was capable of doing it. He had the power and money and position. He would be king of Asgard one day. But these months on Earth had taught him what he now realized Odin had been trying to hammer into his head his entire life. The Throne was not his right, but his responsibility. He could use is to destroy or to build.

He could choose to be a man or a monster.

The clear blue skies clouded over. Lightning flashed in the distance and thunder boomed above them. The wind began to blow violently, knocking lawn chairs and debris across the landscape. Darcy, Erik, and Jane spilled out of the trailer into the dusty lawn. Thor hauled himself up from his chair.

“What's going on?” Darcy yelled, “Where’s this weather come from?”

Erik grabbed Thor’s chair before it could get jerked away. Jane ran back out of the trailer, some sort of scanner clutched in her hands.

“I’m getting really weird readings!” She hollered.

Thor could not bear to hope after so long but a hum he hadn’t heard in over half a year grew inside his head. He laughed wildly, throwing his head back as the rain began to pour across Puente Antiguo. Darcy stared at him.

“Well, he’s lost it.”

Erik pulled her back away from the laughing man.

“No, something’s happening,” he told them, “Thor is the Norse god of thund-”

Thor spun, throwing his hand out. An almost musical thunk sounded as something landed hit it. Lightning crawled across his body and lit up his eyes. It flashed, the rain abruptly stopped and before them stood their friend resplendent in gold and red armor. He laughed again, raising his hand to the sky. The clouds cleared, the thunder stopped and nothing but the wet sand indicated what just happened.

“What!?”

\-----------------------

Across the world, Loki grew more morose as winter progressed. Crowley and Aziraphale never really celebrated specific holidays but their ward’s depression had them desperately trying every winter tradition they could recall. The flat gained a fireplace with a log that never actually seemed to burn down. Fruits and vegetables appeared in decorative wreaths around the bookshop. A huge pine tree piled with presents sat in the living room. The kitchen gained a beautiful, ancient Menorah.

Loki tried to express his gratitude, shaking his head at the two ridiculous immortals, but all he could think about was what he’d lost. He was still furious with Odin and Frigga and Thor but long, fond memories of Asgard at Yule were hard to shake. The streets would be covered in floating, glowing lights. Improv festivals would spring up in every square, the bakers and cooks producing food faster than it could be eaten. The whole city would grind to a halt for an entire week as they celebrated. It was always beautiful and he desperately didn’t want to miss it.

It felt like letting them win.

The new year rolled around and Crowley dragged him back to the flat, bringing wine older than some counties with him. Aziraphale had spent the day cooking a feast, with foods from all over the world and all over time spread out enticingly. He didn’t like to go out near holidays as he felt it was cruel for businesses to force their employees to work on major holidays instead of getting the time with their families. Usually, he cooked a small meal for himself and sometimes Crowley, if the serpent happened to be there at the time, but with their newest addition, he wanted their first New Year to be special. Crowley tried to swing by as many New Years’ as he could, after the Arrangement began, and it was also the only time he made any real effort to eat, even if it always left his uncomfortably sleepy. This year, he knew he’d probably end up unconscious for several weeks but wasn’t as frightened as that usually made him. He knew Aziraphale and Loki would keep him safe.

Loki didn’t say much when the night began, just eating the food put in front of him. But he found it hard to stay in a bad mood with the other two chattering around him. Soon, he was laughing and listening eagerly as they told him stories about every dish offered. The party wound down as midnight approached and the three retired to their usual positions in the living room. 

Loki found himself feeling brave.

“Do you think I’m bad?”

Crowley and Aziraphale stopped talking, turning to him and tripping over each other to reassure him.

“Of course not!” Crowley nearly snarled, “What made you think that?”

“Why on Earth would you think that?” said Aziraphale, “My dear, you have done nothing but be helpful since you got here.”

Loki felt warm and safe at that moment but the cold and snow had been pulling up unpleasant memories since they began and he wanted to not feel haunted by them anymore.

“I’m Jotun,” he whispered, “Born on a cold and frozen rock to a people just the same. They invaded Midgard. They eat their children. They kill and lie and rut like beasts-”

“How do you know?” 

Aziraphale’s quiet words stopped his rant in its tracks.

“What do you mean ‘how do I know’?” he blinked, “Asgard has always known.”

“The keyword in that sentence,” Crowley frowned, “Is ‘Asgard.’ History is written by the winners, snakelet. Always has been and always will.”

“Perception is frighteningly easy to shape,” the angel whispered, “Especially in the wake of deep hurts between two peoples. It is very, very easy to turn your enemy into a monster. Not because they are but because it can be used to justify whatever you do or have done to another.”

Loki was reminded again that these two beings were older than most other things in the universe. Older than Earth and Odin and Asgard. The physical bodies they wore like clothing were made when humans first began to walk the Earth, but the spirits inside predated all other life in the universe. The Asgardian civilization as it was now began with Bor’s father Buri over fifteen hundred years ago and there was other life in the universe as old or older. Loki wondered what it was like to live that long and found that he didn’t really want to imagine it. 

“Admittingly, we have only ever been stationed on Earth,” Aziraphale said, “The Almighty did not allow the Angels to help or interfere with her Creation of other peoples in the universe. We did most of the lesser things, like stars and plants and animals or otherwise guarded those places.”

Aziraphale had always been a guard, like other principalities. Crowley, he knew, had once helped with the Creation of space, although his name and title remained lost. Then the Fall happened and the Angels and Demons were both too busy trying to survive to keep proper track of what the Almighty made.

“Heaven was never an actual place before the Fall. It was only after the creation of Hell that both became a fixed location in a specific place and it became possible to travel to and from them. Earth was placed between, but it was at the time just a lifeless rock.”

“The Garden of Eden,” Crowley continued, “Was the first time Hell had seen the Angels since the Fall. It had been eons since we’d traveled to the physical universe, but the sudden presence of God-Made things on the rock between us drew Lucifer’s attention.”

“And thus began Midgard,” Loki smiled.

“And thus began Midgard,” parroted Crowley. “I remember the Frost Giants as we were both in the area at the time.”

Aziraphale nodded, 

“Yes, I was working as a healer at the time and Crowley was causing trouble as usual.”

“I wasn’t causing trouble, angel,” Crowley smirked, “How’s it my fault that the chiefs decided that they each wanted what the others had?”

Aziraphale fondly rolled his eyes. Loki decided to stop the old argument, curiosity winning over his apprehension about talking about the Jotun. 

“Why did they invade Midgard?” he asked, “Do you know?”

“It took some time for me to befriend some soldiers enough to get them to tell me...”

It was Crowley’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Don’t act like you planned it, angel,” he huffed, “You just offered to heal some stranded soldiers because that's what you do.”

“It took some time,” Aziraphale glowered, “To get them to trust me. They said that their king wanted revenge on Odin for what his father had done to the king’s sister, but were unable to attack Asgard itself”

“Personally,” said Crowley, “I don’t know why Odin had ownership of a world that had already had a perfectly good species on it already, but maybe that's just me.”

“Midgard remained under Odin’s rule as its people were incapable of space travel,” Loki said, “The Council of Nine left him Svartalfheim to.”

“Why is it called the Council of Nine?” Crowley wondered, “If there are only seven members?”

Loki sputtered, saying something about there being Nine Realms. Crowley and Aziraphale giggled at him a bit before the angel stood and moved over to Loki’s couch. He smiled,

“After Odin’s forces came down, we both concentrated on getting the humans away from the fighting. Neither of us knew at the time how the conflict ended, only that both species left Earth.”

“Yep,” Crowley agreed, “The humans returned to the area after a couple of generations with new gods and debatably accurate myths. The battlefields themselves disappeared into history like so many others.”

Aziraphale touched Loki’s cheeks gently, tipping his face to meet his eyes,

“I know you struggle with what you were told to believe about yourself, but it is always about what you  _ do _ that makes you who you are. This is true for every person and every species in the whole of the universe.”

Loki shuddered, staring into ancient eyes. They were blue as a clear sky, but it was the unshakable Faith and unchanging Love that made his words sink into Loki’s skin. It was akin to a proclamation, an irrefutable Truth of the universe. He felt Crowley tuck himself against his back, whispering,

“I know Desire. I know how the wants and whims shape every being’s soul. It is not a sin to want things, even if it's something petty or mean. It is the act itself, to intentionally cause hurt to another that darkens a soul.” 

Crowley wrapped himself around Loki, hugging him more like a snake than a man. Aziraphale scooted closer to and Loki found himself bracketed between their bodies. Powerful auras spread around him, twinning gently with each other where they met. It set his teeth on edge, like the static cling of electricity. The coupling auras were an impossibility, opposite forces combining themselves when they should have canceled each other out. The ever-curious sorcerer in Loki wondered what that meant, what kind of powerful magic could be done with such a paradox, but mostly he just felt safe.

Safe and unusually brave.

“Okay,” he murmured, “Okay.”

He wiggled between them and they pulled back slightly, both watching him. He reached for the familiar feeling in his gut connected to his ability to change his shape. Shapeshifting was technically a magical ability, but could not be learned and required no actual magic to perform. It was a rare and inborn talent. Loki’s shapeshifting was almost entirely self-taught, mastered years before his magical studies ended. He loved how it allowed him to express himself. He loved to turn into snakes and birds to play tricks on people. He’d discovered early on that he could hide in plain sight by changing other people’s perceptions of his gender and had accidentally discovered a love for presenting as something other than a man. He’d once told Frigga that he always felt like himself, whatever form he took, whether it was man or woman or three-headed bovine. 

It was meeting Crowley and Aziraphale that had let him really experience playing with his gender and its presentation. His position as a prince had made him wary of really exploring his abilities where he could be publically judged and as he usually used them to play tricks, his peers collectively dismissed them as part of the joke. The two immortals, on the other hand, delighting in presenting themselves however they pleased. Crowley regularly wore whatever he wanted, whether it was just women’s pants or the near-decade she spent as a flapper in the 20s. Aziraphale had loved every second of the 18th century’s fashion, every big fluffy dress, and lacy bodice. He had presented mostly male after the dresses grew slimmer and shorter, but he knew from experience that nothing stayed out of style for long. One day, she’d get to wear her favorite dresses again or Crowley would succeed in convincing her to try new feminine fashions. The casual way they asked if Loki wanted to wear feminine or masculine clothing every time they got dressed up had delighted the young prince since the first time it had happened in 17th century London.

Now, Loki reached for a different kind of shifting. The shifting he touched now was so instinctual that he had never really felt it until the day he’s confronted Odin in the Vault. The Casket had touched the hidden shaping, forcibly tugging it away, forever altering Loki’s perception of himself. Now, he felt it himself and carefully unraveled it, studying each strand so he could recreate it later. 

Loki’s skin shifted in pigmentation, pale pink shifting to a soft blue. His companions watched, unwilling to speak and disturb his nervous bravery. Finally, it was over and Loki squeezed his closed eyes tighter. The transformation left him feeling unreasonably exhausted. It had required no magic but he felt wrung out and tired. His bravery had left him and he  _ could not bear to open his eyes _ …

“Shhhhh,” hissed a voice in his ear, “It’ssss alright, blue racer, it’sss alright.”

A warm pair of hands gripped his own, stroking softly up the backs with his thumbs,

“You’re doing lovely, dear. Such a nice shade of blue, too. Did you know the lines are an indication of lineage? I can’t read them, unfortunately, but I know that Jotunheim’s line of rulers stretches to the first Giant Ymir.”

Loki’s stiff pose relaxed slowly, still squished safely between the others. Minutes passed and Loki finally felt calm enough to open his eyes. He was still on the couch, tugged around to sit shoulder to shoulder with Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley held a small, ornamental hand mirror in one hand. He offered it, face down, to Loki. Loki took one final deep breath and held it up.

His skin was blue. The lines he’d once thought purposely scarred across a giant’s body were too clean and perfect to be anything but natural. His green eyes were red now, contrasting sharply with his skin tone. The shape of his jaw and curly mess of his black hair remained the same. He looked wildly different and yet almost exactly the same as he always had. The burn of disgust he’d felt in the vault burned for a moment but faded away in the face of the love filtering against his magical senses.

He was Loki and he was loved.

\-----------------------

The Bifrost spun to life. Frigga and Odin stood outside, watching Heimdall deftly maneuver their son back to Asgard. He’d stayed for a few days after he regained his powers, saying goodbye to his new human friends. Frigga awaited his return anxiously. Odin had woken from his sleep nearly a month before Yule, gratefully for Frigga’s swift intervention in the matter of Jotunheim. She had given him a few days before sitting him down and discussing her fears about the fate of the Nine.

“We have allowed a wound to form between Asgard and Jotunheim. A rift I fear will continue to fester.”

Odin, ever willing to listen to his wife’s advice, let her speak. He could not fault her reasoning, especially in the face of Loki’s unexpectedly fierce reaction to his parentage. He had not expected it to be easy, but his son’s tearful and furious accusations had made him aware that something more was afoot. He had felt the Sleep coming upon him and tried desperately to calm Loki down enough to return them both safely to Frigga. But the Sleep had forced itself upon him, the price he paid to keep Asgard alive and floating, and even all his power could not keep him awake. The last thing he saw was Loki’s anger melting abruptly into fear as he fell to the floor.

Never had Odin wished for anything as much as he wished that he could have stayed awake for even a few minutes longer. Odin could not regret too much in his life or he would be crippled as a king. He regretted his father and the actions he’d taken in the man’s name. He regretted the resignation in his mother’s eyes every time he and his brothers were taken from her arms to be ‘tutored’ by an unloving and uncaring father. He regretted the ugly death of his younger brothers, both choking on blood in the final days of Svartalfheim’s last desperate stand against the unstoppable might of Asgard. The Dark Elves had to be stopped before their plan to darken all the stars could be achieved, but the cost had been too high on both sides. It remained the only just war Bor had ever participated in.

Now, more than ever, he regretted the war with Jotunheim. Laufey’s attacks were fueled by hate for Asgard and unjustly perpetrated against the helpless people of Midgard, but he could see now the rift Frigga spoke of. It was Asgard’s complacency as much as Jotunheim’s anger that had allowed it to grow. 

He had been angry at Laufey for reminding him about his mother and her pain. That anger had spilled over into a refusal to help Jotunheim after the war. Finding Loki, the son of his mother’s brother, had seemed just another to hate the King of Giants. But Odin was half Jotun and knew that the mild temperatures of Jotuneim’s summer could not kill even the youngest of its children. And abandoned children were not placed in sacred temples.

Odin should have told Loki the truth, but that would have required confronting his own shame over stealing a child in pettiness and anger. Instead, he’d put it off and claimed that he was protecting his new son. Frigga had always been able to see right through him, but taking care of two small children as well as helping Asgard mourn it’s fallen soldiers had taken all of her time. Odin had been left to ignore his regrets for longer than he should have. She inquired again years later, but their sons had been young and happy and he easily convinced her to wait until Loki was more mature. Loki grew quiet and mischievous and Thor grew loud and brave. 

Until Jotunheim, Odin dismissed Thor’s arrogance, certain that it was only the brashness of youth wanting to prove himself. Loki had withdrawn and Odin thought it only his nature to be reserved until the child had screamed jealousy and anger into his face. It appeared that he did not know his children at all and that he regretted most of all.

He didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to make it up to both of them.

Thor appeared in rainbow light, returned to Asgard at last and Frigga rushed to clutch him against her. Odin followed, giving the two a moment alone. Thor pressed his mother to his chest and looked at Odin.

“Father,” he whispered. Odin didn’t like the spark of wariness in his son’s eyes and regret swelled up like bile.

“Thor, my son,” he rasped, “My son, I am sorry for what I have done.”

Thor looked shocked. He expected anger or stoic pride, but not the nearly panicked sadness his father now wore. He had never seen his father panic or apologize, but recent events seem to have changed more than Thor.

“Don’t be, father,” he reassured, “I met many wonderful people and learned much, although I can not claim it was easy.”

“Growth seldom is,” Frigga said, eyes twinkling. The mischief in her expression reminded both men keenly of the hole in their family.

“Has Loki been found?” Thor asked in a rush. Odin shook his head,

“Heimdall watches, but we have seen hide nor hair of your brother.”

“Why did you hide the truth from him?” Thor seemed resigned to receiving no real answer, as he hadn’t the last time he asked, “Why keep such an important secret?”

Odin sighed.

“Come. Let us retire to the Palace. We have much to tell you and you have much to share with us.”

He stepped forward and pulled his son into a powerful hug, as he had not for many years,

“I have been foolish and allowed complacency to ruin more than I expected. My son, I can only promise to do better and tell you all the things I should have said before. We can only hope that I will one day get the same chance with your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, notes at the end now! I have tricked you!  
The response for this fic has been amazing and I want to thank every one of you. I know it seems like I'm skipping tons of time but the response to what was going to be a short one-off has made me curious to explore how this changed Loki would affect the wider MCU. Thor 1 kinda fizzles out without him as the primary antagonist so we need to move further forward. Plus, I can't wait to write Humanities Godparents™ in the background parenting absolutely everyone and telling them when they're being silly.  
As a note on the MCU: While I'm sure someone somewhere has spent tons of time and effort into compiling an exact timeline for the MCU, I'm using the much easier to research method of following the release dates for the films through wikipedia. For your reference: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Marvel_Cinematic_Universe_films  
Join me on my Tumblr: https://celestialmoondragon.tumblr.com  
I also made an ineffable husbands amv a few months ago that I'd love ya'll to check out! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kG-k4YCY5C4


	6. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIELD faces a threat as plans are made in England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm alive, guys! I'm so so sorry. I set up some unrealistic expectations with the daily updates in the beginning but I promise I didn't mean to let it go this long. Life happened but I'm back so enjoy!  
No beta as always.

April came to London with typically grey skies and budding growth on the ground. Loki could not believe that he'd been free of Asgard for over a year. It had quickly become the best year of his entire life, despite the many nights he sat confronting painful truths. Zira and Crowley remained his staunchest supporters, even on days in which he did nothing but blubber embarrassingly in their arms. As his turmoil lessened, he began to notice little things about his companions. Loki was an expert at reading other people, capable of observing many things without being noticed. The stories of their lives leaked out in little anecdotes and grand old sagas and Loki carefully filed away each one away to paint a complete picture.

Crowley hated cramped, crowded masses of people. He railed against even the smallest hint of harm to children. Each story about Hell made it appear worse, blatant torture and torment. Zira, in contrast, became nervous in sterile, featureless environments. He tended to react more strongly to verbal judgment, often scolding prejudiced humans even in situations he wasn't involved in. Heaven, too, seemed hypocritical, punishing one of the best people Loki had ever met for the fatal flaw, in their eyes, of _ kindness _. 

Neither immortal was perfect, of course. Loki loved books, but Zira's grand library could be fairly described as obsessive hoarding. Crowley excelled at exacerbating everyone around him, which Loki adored, but could objectively see as a not necessarily positive trait. Both were scarred by long experiences on Earth and Loki sometimes found himself stepping on unexpected traumas.

The rough patches didn't change how much Loki felt he owed them, no matter their insistence that he didn't, so Loki carefully navigated each situation as it came. Sometimes he could pull them out of their funk by simply expressing a desire to see something new and other times he could do nothing but let them rely on each other. The love shared between Zira and Crowley reminded him of Odin and Frigga but also seemed beyond that. He supposed it was a byproduct of difference in lifespan. His former parents had seemed to his young eyes to have been together forever, but the angel and demon had been together even longer, although not always romantically or physically. 

Today, Loki had visited an art gallery. He had begun to venture out by himself more often, no longer afraid of overstepping human social norms. Afterward, he stopped at a bistro for some gourmet sandwich wraps that he brought to the bookshop. It was his own money, some of the gold and gems he brought fenced through Crowley's contacts. His human identity had been similarly faked and now he was Loki C. Fell. 

They had asked him whether he wanted to use his patronymic last name or make one up but Loki had hesitantly asked them if he could show his appreciation for all they had done. Crowley had turned bright red and Zira had practically manifested his halo in joy.

"Never had a kid before," Crowley mumbled. It was the first time they had partly defined their relationship. Loki wasn't sure he could handle more parents, burned as he was by the ones he already had. Zira had sensed his hesitation and swept both his tricksters up in a warm hug,

"But we have been godparents before. What is another child?"

The bell rang as he entered the shop. It had closed unusually early, which meant that a particularly tenacious customer had attempted to buy a book. Zira sat at his desk, meticulously kept ledger open in front of him.

"Oh, hello dear!" He chirped, "Did you enjoy the exhibit?"

"Yes," Loki offered him a wrapped sandwich, "The mythology was wildly off, of course. I have never had children."

"But the art was nice?" Zira bit happily into his meal, "And that's all that matters sometimes."

Loki hummed agreement, unwrapping his own food. They are in silence for several minutes. A bang interrupted the comfortable silence and Crowley swung his way into the building.

"There you both are!"

Zira glowered fondly, offering the third sandwich, 

"My love, do not bang into the shop like that! You'll damage the paint."

Crowley rolled his eyes, glasses sliding down his nose. He snapped and the shop doors shut of their own accord.

"It'll be fine, angel. No thanks," he waved away the proffered food, " You can have it." 

This was a particular ritual Loki had observed between them. Crowley rarely ate and Zira's appetite was literally endless. Still, Zira always offered his precious food to Crowley. On occasion, the offer would be accepted. Usually, it was not and Crowley often allowed Zira to finish upwards of half his meal on the occasions he did order something for himself.

It was cute, although Loki would never tell them that.

Crowley sprawled across a couch, practically vibrating with excitement.

"I have an idea!"

Twin brows raised as the other two regarded their thin friend. Zira had started on his second wrap.

"Picture this," Crowley gestured wildly, "Fancy museum gala. Tons of fancy rich people. A children's charity."

He paused, waiting for them to pick up the thought. They stared. Zira finished his sandwich. Crowley sighed dramatically.

"Don't you get it? A little celestial guilt. Some infernal tempting. They'll be lining up to donate way more money than usual!"

No longer beholden to hell, Crowley had stopped having to hide his 'good' tempting behind flimsy stories of causing social-economic strife and distributing wealth for evil. He now openly spent time convincing the people who had more than they needed, whether time or money or knowledge, to give that resource to those who needed it. It was not a fix-all, of course, because humans were human but it kept him preoccupied, even if he still complained about being called nice.

Zira, in turn, did not hide his blessings of things Heaven considered sins, such as when he convinced an overworked employee to take an extra day off or to eat an extra slice of cake to make themselves feel better after a long day. Minor sins had always been notoriously difficult to quantify, but Zira firmly believed that it was excess to the point of harm or waste that qualified. The Almighty wasn't going to begrudge an extra nap. Heaven had not always agreed and he earned many reprimands for 'frivolously' spending his blessings in such a manner.

The only ones now who could judge how they spend their time were themselves, each other and Herself and she hadn't said anything to them yet.

"I'm always ready to play some fun tricks on people," said Loki, "And the benefit of impoverished children is a worthy cause indeed."

Zira contemplated the desk for a moment, swinging his gaze around his beloved bookshop.

"Very well, dear," he said finally, "When and where is this gala?"

Crowley smirked, pleased as the snake who got the cream,

"Next month. Stuttgart! In Germany." 

\-----------------------

Klaxons blared and unnatural blue light flashed across the plain concrete walls and floor. Nick Fury marched inside the Joint Dark Energy Mission Facility, followed closely by a small band of armed guards.

"Selvig!" he hollered, "What's it doing?" 

"I don't know!" Erik said, "It just started misbehaving."

"That isn't reassuring," Fury frowned, "Can you turn it off?"

"It's a power source, so not really," Erik followed the director back to the monitoring station, "It's throwing off small levels of radiation. Nothing harmful."

"Where's Hawkeye?"

"In his nest," Erik pointed over his shoulder, already absorbed in the new readings the Tesseract was putting off.

Fury stomped under the catwalk as Clint Barton slid smoothly down a rope to him.

"Report!"

"Nothing as far as I'm aware," Barton said, "I checked the staff. No outside contacts, no suspicious dealings."

The men stepped back over to the Tesseract, watching the blue cube pulse.

"If there's any interference, it's not on our side."

"Our side?" Fury barked.

"It's a doorway to the other side of space, right?" Barton gestured to the cube, "Doorways open both ways."

"It's spiking again!" cried one of the scientists. The Tesseract whirled, flashing faster and faster. The buildup broke and a beam of light shot across the room, opening an oblong hole into blackness. The portal quivered and out stepped a creature who appeared almost skeletal and insect-like. He stood tall and wore blue armor and a blue cloak over his head. One hand, with too few fingers and one too many thumbs, clutched a glowing scepter. 

“Sir,” Fury ordered, “Drop the spear.”

The creature grinned and a powerful burst of energy erupted from his spear. A fight broke out, SHIELD agents firing harmlessly at the intruder and being thrown aside like cattle. The creature moved too fast to be seen and grabbed Clint’s wrist.

“You,” he rasped, “Will do nicely.”

He touched the spear to Barton’s chest and blue raced up his agent’s veins. He holstered his weapon, standing suddenly still and obedient. While the creature repeated the trick with a couple of other agents, Fury reached up the apparatus he had hidden behind, pulling the warm cube out of its housing. He placed it in a special case, felt and lead-lined. He attempted to step quietly away but should have known it would not be that easy.

“I believe,” hissed the creature, “You have something of mine.”

“Who are you?” Fury said.

“I am The Other,” the creature replied, “And I come with glad tidings. Your world is to be ruled by the hand of our glorious master. You should be grateful.”

“We have no quarrel with you.” 

“The ant has no quarrel with a boot. You will know peace,” he reached around, planting this spear into Selvig’s chest. Selvig relaxed, standing suddenly as loyal as all the other victims.

“You say peace,” Fury frowned, “But I think you mean the other thing.”

“Sir!” Barton addressed the alien, “He’s wasting time. He means to bury us.”

Fury smirked, 

“Like the Pharaohs of Old.”

Barton reacted, pulling his weapon and shooting at Fury. The director fell back and The Other and his new minions grabbed the case, swiftly exiting the room. Fury hauled himself to his feet as the building began to shake. His radio crinkled,

“Get out of there, sir!” Coulson told him, “Hill went after the intruder but I don’t think she’s going to be able to stop him.”

“Follow that hostile,” ordered Fury, already gesturing to his pilot. The facility rumbled below him, collapsing into the Earth-like sand. Fury saw a truck leave the tunnel with The Other braced in the truck bed. He ordered the pilot around, desperate to get one decent shot in. The creature couldn’t steal anything if it were dead. Barton spun the truck off the road and The Other thrust his spear forward. A bolt of energy connected with the helicopter blades and Fury barely managed to jump off in time. The chopper erupted into fire and the truck sped off into the night.

“Director, do you copy?” Coulson asked, “Hill, do you copy?”

“I’m fine!” Hill answered, “A lot of men are still under the collapse.”

Fury raised his radio,

“The Tesseract is with a hostile force. Anyone not working rescue needs to find that briefcase. This is Level Seven. We are at war.”

“What do we do?” Coulson asked.

“We need the Avengers Initiative.” said Fury, “The Tesseract came from Odin originally, according to myth?”

“According to the HYDRA research,” replied Coulson.

“Than maybe you should inquire with our desert friend. He would be potent firepower for the Initiative, even temporarily. They owe us.”

Fury squinted in the dust. The truck was long out of sight but he imagined he could still see the taillights burning in the dark.

“After that?” he said into his radio, “Go speak to Stark. Hill?”

“Yes, sir?” she asked.

“Get me a goddamn ride.”

“Yes, sir.” 

\-----------------------

Natasha Romanoff walked calmly across the deck, coming to a stop in front of Coulson as he and Rogers exited their plane.

“They need you,” she said, “They’re about to start the trace.”

Coulson nodded, introducing them and then leaving her with Rogers.

“Ma’am,” he greeted. He followed as she retraced her way across the deck.

“It was quite a stir when they found you,” she said, “Did Coulson ask you to sign his trading cards yet?”

“Trading cards,” he asked incredulously.

“They’re vintage,” she grinned, “He’s very proud.”

Roger’s attention was drawn away from her. A short man wondered the deck, nervously avoiding everyone around him.

“Dr. Banner!” Rogers raised his voice slightly, “They say you can find the Tesseract.”

“Is that all they say?” Banner said bitterly. Rogers didn’t let his poker face slip.

“That’s what I care about,” he assured the nervous man.

Natasha told them that they should get inside. Banner made a quip about pressurized, submerged containers as the giant fans of the Helicarrior spun to life, lifting the massive craft into the sky. He didn’t like this option much better. She led them to Fury on the bridge. Crewman bustled around the room, paying little attention to the newcomers. Rogers and Banner wandered the bridge for a few moments. Fury stepped down to greet his guests. Rogers handed him a ten-dollar bill and he smirked.

“Doctor,” he addressed Banner, “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for asking nicely,” Banner shook his hand warily, “How long am I staying?”

“Help us find the Tesseract,” Fury replied, “And you’re in the wind.”

Coulson explained what they’re already done, hijacking all the cameras in the world. Banner asked them to locate all the spectrometers they could find. He was about to let Natasha show him to his lab when a bridge tech interrupted,

“Sir!”

“What?” asked Fury.

The skies outside the bridge began to rumble and darken. Fury glanced at it,

“Looks like your friend got the message.”

“I should hope so, sir,” Coulson said mildly, “Or else I looked like an idiot yelling into the sky.”

“What?” Rogers and Banner questioned simultaneously. Fury gestured to Hill, giving her the bridge and walked himself back up to the main hatch out to the deck.

“Sir,” Hill informed him, “Energy consistent with the Bifrost is gathering above us.”

“Keep her steady for us, Hill,” Fury ordered. He indicated the men to open the door. Air rushed out and ears popped. It was hard to breathe up this high but Fury had purposely stopped once they were a safe distance from the water.

“Watch this,” Coulson whispered. He seemed almost excited, “It’s very cool.”

A massive beam of rainbow light shot down from the sky. The Helicarrier rocked slightly as it collided with the deck. 

“Oh!” Banner exhaled, “I’m not sure this was a good idea.” 

Rogers patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“I don’t really know what’s happening.”

The beam of bright light collapsed, fading as if it had never been there. A man in gold armor and a red cape stood steady in a slightly smoking symbol that appeared burned into the metal plating on the deck. He saw them and stepped forward, grasping Coulson fondly.

“Coulson!” he boomed, “It is good to see you once again. Heimdall has explained what has occurred although this ‘Other’ has now masked himself from the Gatekeeper’s eyes.”

Rogers raised his hand like a schoolboy.

“Um, excuse me? What is happening?”

Fury waved his hand,

“This is Thor, the God of Thunder and Prince of Asgard.”

“Ohhhh,” Banner moaned, “I think I’d like to go to my lab now.”

“Sir!” Hill’s voice crackled over the radio as they all piled back inside and the airlock repressurized slowly, “We have a hit!”

He turned to Rogers and Thor, meeting their eyes straight on,

“You’re up.”

\-----------------------

Humans in expensive suits and fancy dresses swarmed across the wide atrium below. Loki leaned over the stone balcony, his decorative cane in one hand, watching an elegant redhead enchant the helpless men around her. She held court like a queen, resplendent in her power and grace.

Little did the mortals know the serpent in their midst.

Loki had spent centuries learning diplomacy. Trickery had been an easy next step. Taking the skills he'd gained in lying for his kingdom were easily turned to lying for his gain. Spinning his political position and skills to his personal benefit had been simple. He'd tricked and manipulated everyone from the stableboy to Thor himself. Mostly harmless, simple amusements for his pleasure. 

Crowley would delight in every clever scheme. Aziraphale would tut in disapproval, mouth hidden behind his wine glass. But he was, as Crowley said, a bastard, and the amusement would sparkle in his eyes for anyone who cared to actually look.

For one single moment, Loki stood again in Asgard. The illusion of family from his childhood stood welcoming him home. His father's strength and mother's gentleness bracketed him. His brother's loud warmth surrounded him. Behind him, the night skies and a white-gold sun pulled him into an embrace. He was safe and whole and nothing would pull them apart ever again.

The sounds of the party covered the crack as the banister split beneath his grip. He cursed and slid his hand over the crack. It faded away as if it had never been.

If only he could do the same to his own damage.

"I sense you bring morose, snakelet."

Loki barely resisted the trained urge to swing his cane and smack whoever had snuck up on him. He failed to suppress his instinct to jump. Crowley grinned, sharp and wicked, with a hint of just too many teeth. 

Her dress tonight was black and backless, showing off strong arms and the freckles across her shoulders. Small gems glittered in the dress, giving the impressions of stars. Coupled with the nebulas that swirled in her aura, the ensemble made her a sight to behold. 

Loki knew her appearance to be carefully calculated, pieced together to attract a certain clientele. The discussion after they decided to come to this charity had been fascinating. Asgardian politics had its share of subterfuge, but sitting down and having a discussion about how perceived mannerisms affected someone's impression of you had been amazing. Thor would have told him he was reading too much into it. Frigga would have asked him to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Crowley gave him tips.

"What's got you thinking so hard anyway?" Crowley curled an arm around his elbow, "We got more rich snobs to fleece for money."

Loki huffed slightly, setting his cane against the Piller next to him.

"Just thinking about the differences between then and now," he said, "Odin and Thor would be appalled to see me manipulating money like this. Would call it dishonorable."

"Honor's a backless currency," Crowley snorted, "It means nothing because no one can agree on what it values."

She tugged him around. Her hands rubbed up against his shoulders.

"I find honor in using my skills to benefit those who need help. And it's easy, if you know how, to make people see exactly what you want them to. Whether it's true or not, people will judge you for it. What do you think people saw when we came in?"

Loki blinked,

"A family, I hope, as that's our cover story."

She pointed over the balcony. Her panting admirers had dispersed. Zira now held a court of his own, filled not with lecherous old men as Crowley's had been, but instead, the bored youth dragged to their parents' stuffy party.

"It's about the impression you make. Those old pervs surrounded me like sharks in the water because they perceive Zira as being undeserving. Why would that hot piece of ass ever settle for _ him_? He's short and airheaded and _ fat _."

"Most of these men are too," Loki pointed out.

"Yeah," Crowley rolled her eyes, "But men like these don't see their own flaws. Not that weight is a flaw."

She bobbed her head, movements slow and smooth. She was still watching Zira.

"The point is that they're rich and powerful and no one has ever told them no. They circle because they think I'm available, either because they don't think Zira's a threat or because they don't care if he is or not."

"Never mind that you love each other like two halves of a whole," Loki whispered only to see her blush in joy and pride. She flapped a hand at him,

"You're just teasing me now!"

They giggled into each other, shoving shoulders. Loki leaned into her.

"So how," he asked, "Are you using their assumptions against them?"

She grinned again, "By telling them how much this charity means to me personally. Couple that with some subtle hints that it isn't the size of Zira's dick that keeps me with him."

Loki snorted, knocking his cane to the floor. Crowley laughed as he levitated it back into his hand.

"Now when the auction starts," she continued, "They will line up to prove the size of their dick via their bank accounts in the hopes that it will impress me."

She glittered her hand and batted her eyes. Loki snorted again, barely contained laughter spilling into the empty balcony.

"And what about Zira? I doubt he's seducing the youth." 

"What?" She smirked, "You don't think he's got Big Sugar Daddy Energy?"

"The internet is humanity's biggest mistake," Loki dead-panned.

Crowley cackled, sounding more like her namesake than any serpent Loki had ever heard.

"No," she shook her head, "He's doing something far more insidious."

"More insidious than implying yourself to be a gold-digger?" Loki raised an eyebrow.

"Yessss," she said, "He's _ inspiring _ them."

She hissed the word like it meant something disgusting, but he had spent enough time with her to hear the admiration beneath.

"He's weaving stories of Hope and Justice. Of Charity and Kindness. Making them feel like regular superheroes, here to save the world. They'll go out then, giving more here and perhaps even after. Some of them might go on to become real philanthropists." 

Loki thought of a world where everyone lived on Zira's ideas of kindness and kinship. It did not sound like a bad world at all. 

"And what shall I do to help along our endeavors tonight?" He asked, offering her his hand.

"First you shall escort your mother down the stairs," she took his arm again, " And then you shall turn your attentions to the neglected wives and mothers here with us tonight. Every lady loves a young man with class."

Loki cackled with her one more time, grabbed his cane, and gently pulled her toward the stairs. Tonight was a good night.


	7. Frying Pans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontations.

Aziraphale gently shooed the last of his audience away. They dispersed, eager and hopeful for the future to come. He hoped they would keep the optimism he'd given them but humans were prone to cynicism as they aged. 

A spike of joy splashed across his awareness, sharp as ice and wild as a fire. He turned, watching Loki laugh above and across the huge ballroom from him. Crowley stood beside him and Zira didn't have to see her to know she was smirking wickedly. They pulled away, waltzing down the staircase together. 

He was proud of how far Loki had come. The young man stood proud and confident, a far cry from the awkward teen they'd first met in the 17th century. Even the young man who'd come to them a year ago, devastated and afraid and alone, had melted away.

Zira loved people and always had, from the first moment of his Creation. He loved his fellow angels, even after the failed apocalypse. He'd like to believe that included the Fallen, although Crowley might make him biased. The first day he saw humans in the Garden had been magical. His experience with people of the mortal-but-not-human variety was somewhat more limited, but the Aesir were not the first or last 'aliens' to come to Earth. 

But there was something stronger, something unique and precious, in seeing Crowley tug Loki gently with her, slithering down the staircase.

Almighty, she was exquisite.

Panic flared across the humans around them as glass shattered. The skylight fractured inwards, men in dark clothes and masks sliding down rapidly on ropes. People screamed, rushing toward the main entrance, but gunfire told him that the invaders had already planned for that. He arched several of his wings, unseen to mortal eyes, and a dozen rappelling ropes snapped, dropping their charges from a height enough to knock them out.

Aziraphale extended his senses, feeling for Crowley and Loki. A dozen ethereal eyes opened. The humans around him were exposed, souls glowing light and dark with virtue and sin. He generally tried to avoid looking at them this way, but the situation was dire and likely to rapidly get worse.

The partygoers scattered as their attackers began to open fire and Aziraphale expended miracles in rapid succession as he jammed guns, dropped bullets mid-flight and pushed even the oldest humans to run _ just a little bit faster _. One old man would later find himself mysteriously healed from his chronic heart condition.

It would not be enough for all of them, he knew, as he watched soul-lights around the room blink out like extinguished candles. Loki dove from the staircase, swinging his cane at first one and then another masked attacker. Crowley followed, striking with serpentine precision. Her dress somehow never tripped her up once. 

They moved in tandem toward Aziraphale, pushing panicked humans in the directions of tables and columns; anything that could shield them from gunfire. More men dropped from the ceiling. Green fire flashed into existence, burning several of the ropes away. Others fell of their own accord, snapped by fangs made of starlight.

"Humans!" rasped a voice from the entrance. It echoed unnaturally, too loud and the charity fell silent. Guns stopped firing and patrons stopped screaming. Everyone pulled back and Aziraphale was able to nudge himself closer to the front entrance, Loki and Crowley behind him.

A creature stood on the dais, wrapped in armor and a blue-black cloak. Armed humans flanked him. He held a strange spear in one hand.

Aziraphale shuddered. The spear had a glowing blue stone held at its tip but something was off. Some old power was contained within it. Something older and stronger than the creature or any angel or demon Aziraphale had ever met. He reached for it. If he could just figure out what it was-

_ Synapses fired. _

_ It was the first moment of their existence. They stood before a presence vast and incomprehensible, made of colors unidentifiable and shapes unnameable and sounds unknowable. They could feel only Love and Purpose. They were Made to Serve, to fulfill the will of the Almighty. That Which Formed Time and Space. That Which Made Reality and Power. That Which Shaped Mind and Soul. _

_ They were unmade and could be made anew. _

"Angel!" hissed a voice. Something sharp dug into his wrist. Aziraphale slammed back into his body, the familiar weight of Crowley's nails clawing into his arm.

The creature was talking.

"Humans! Ants and maggots! Tremble before your betters!" he cried, "Perhaps I will spare you if you give me what I want."

The crowd said nothing, fear hanging like a cloud. The sound of desperately muffled crying filled the silence. The creature grinned a sinister parody of a smile.

"Fucker's getting off on this," snarled Crowley. Loki shifted slightly as if he meant to shield them both.

"Hear me!" roared the creature again, "Which one of you is Heinrich Schafer? Bring me this one and the rest of you may live."

For a moment, no one moved and Aziraphale hoped that their better nature would prevail. This man would spare none of them, no matter who they gave him. His leg ached, the physical reminder of an ancient metaphysical wound, and he flexed one hand. Static fire clung to his fingertips. He would summon his sword and cut of this beast's head, damn the consequences, before he allowed the wholesale slaughter of all the defenseless humans in this room.

The humans broke first, shoving an older man to the front. Aziraphale stepped forward, but Crowley gripped his arm harder. The man, presumably Herr Schafer, scrambled for a moment before appearing to decide to face his death with dignity. He stood, straightened his suit and turned to the creature,

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

The monster rasped in pleasure, handing his spear to a guard. He lunged, grabbing Schafer by the shirt. Something in his other hand came up and the man screamed as something rammed into his face. Crowley hissed wordlessly and Aziraphale felt a quick sliver of power fly toward the helpless mortal. But the deed was done too fast and even they couldn't heal death.

Herr Schafer slid lifeless to the ground, one eye torn from the socket. The creature cackled, gesturing to the crowd,

"You see what you are worth? Glory will come and you shall be trampled beneath him," he roared, "Now kneel! It is what you are made for, after all."

The terrified crowd threw themselves down. Loki rolled his fingers and a net of illusion dropped over the three of them. No one could see that they did not bow. Aziraphale felt static take shape in his hand, the familiar weight of a hilt in his palm. Crowley hissed, pointing out of their shield,

"Stupid!"

An old man stood. He was not dressed as a guest, his clothes plain and worn. He glared steely-eyed at the creature. There was silence for a moment, the bowed crowd trembling in disbelief.

"Not to men like you," the old man said. 

"There are no men like me," crowed the creature. The old man continued to stand, facing the evil in front of him,

"There are always men like you." 

Crowley snarled, stepping out of the barrier. She weaved shadows around herself, lurking in the unseen manner only a demon was capable of. She slithered through the crowd, moving forward even in spaces that she couldn't have fit. Aziraphale eyed Loki, gesturing to the armed men on the dais. He nodded but before either of them could move, something flew from out of the shadows, smacking the creature backward. A man rushed from the front entrance, catching the object as it bounced back to him.

"That outfit is a choice," Loki whispered. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"Yes, my dear, but there are more pressing matters."

Crowley had grabbed the old man, pulling him around a pillar. More people rushed from side entrances into the atrium, all wearing the stylized insignia of a bird. A firefight broke out between them and the first group. The party guests panicked anew, but the bird group appeared to be evacuating them as safely as possible. Meanwhile, the red, white and blue man had engaged the creature in fisticuffs and the soldiers around them would need only seconds to get over their surprise.

Aziraphale rushed forward, flaming sword forming fully in his hand. A minion raised his gun, but fiery celestial steel sliced clean through it. The strong punch that followed knocked him out cold.

The fight was on.

\-----------------------

Steve ducked another swipe of the Other's spear. He'd been told what it has done to the SHIELD agents. He certainly wasn't going to be touching it. The Other snarled, retreating backward. Steve tried to follow, but several of the hired goons stepped forward to block his path. He dodged one, but a gun butt to his chin made him see stars for a second. The thug raised his weapon to smack him again but a hand wrapped securely around his gun and _ wrenched _ it out of his hands.

"Steady there, young man!" someone said, delivering a solid blow to the thug, dropping him instantly. The man, middle-aged at least, gripped Steve's arm, pulling him up with no discernible effort, something no one had been capable of doing since he'd come out of the super-soldier program.

He also appeared to be holding a sword that was on fire.

Steve hurriedly filed that away under 'weird shit that has happened since he woke up' and picked up his shield,

"He's getting away!"

The man nodded, way too calm in the face of danger. It reminded Steve of being back in the army. This man, whoever he was, was a soldier.

"Quite right, young man! We must be off."

Okay. This man was a soldier who looked like a librarian and talked more like someone from the forties then anyone he'd heard since waking up, even the ones that had tried to trick him in the fake hospital room.

Steve found himself rushing after the man. He tried to pull ahead but found even his enhanced body unable to overtake the older man.

Who was this guy?

They ran after the Other, out into the cool night air. The quinjet hovered in the air, guns trained on the alien. People ran out of the building, some escorted by SHIELD agents. Thor stood menacingly over the bodies of over a dozen goons as SHIELD restrained them. The Other snarled, spear shooting blue light at the aircraft. Romanoff wobbled, barely rolling the craft out of the way. The external speakers around them crackled and music blasted out. 

_ Shoot to thrill, play to kill _

_ Too many women with too many pills _

_ Shoot to thrill, play to kill _

_ I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will _

_ Yeah _

The blond man frowned, wrinkling his nose. Steve looked around instead. The Other went down as he got shot and a man in a gold and red suit flew down from the sky.

"Hold up there, Glowstick."

"Oh fantastic," muttered the swordsman, "More funny fellows in ridiculous outfits."

Steve had a feeling he wasn't supposed to hear that. He raised his shield, approaching the Other slowly. The alien looked like he'd been knocked out cold. Hopefully, he stayed that way. Steve motioned some agents forward, allowing them to place cuffs and a series of strong metal restraint bands along his shoulders, arms, legs, and feet. No telling whether that would hold him or not but at least he couldn't shoot the spear anymore.

The blond gentleman made a flicking motion and Steve watched in amazement as the flames went out and the sword faded away as if it had never been there. He was also paying no attention to his own disappearing act, looking around instead. He must have found what he wanted because he walked away, meeting a tall redhead his age and an equally tall young man that were both headed intently toward him.

"Nice job, capsicle," said the robot man.

"Mr. Stark," he returned, "Timely arrival."

"Indeed!" hollered Thor, approaching them both, "A mighty battle! Hopefully, we saved everyone."

"We saved as many as we could," Stark said, "I got the call, but time wasn't really on our side in that one."

Thor, however, had stopped paying attention. He was staring away, a look of naked heartbreak on his face. His voice, when he finally spoke, was not much better,

"Loki?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little shorter chapter but the long-awaited reunion is here!


	8. Fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some awkward pauses.

Loki did not want to be here. He wanted to be at home, laughing with Crowley and Zira as they swapped stories about the ridiculous posturing of rich, dumb busybodies. He did not want to watch some megalomanic slaughter civilians. 

He did not want to see the desperate hurt and dawning hope on Thor's face.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn't say anything. He wanted to rage, to scream, to _ apologize _-

"Well!" Aziraphale interrupted, "L-lovely meeting you. Thanks for stopping that unpleasant fellow. We must be off."

It was not a convincing argument. Zira was fidgeting with his hands and stuttering nervously. He gestured, but they'd caught the attention of most of the people around them. Thor had stopped helping completely, moving forward slowly. Loki took several steps back in desperation. Thor somehow looked even more wounded. Crowley had squared her shoulders, shifting back and forth like a flaring cobra and clutching Loki's arm. 

"WHO," asked the tin can man, "Is Loki?" 

"My brother," said Thor, never taking his eyes away, "He _ left _. Just disappeared one day."

The shock had waned, replaced rapidly by anger. Thor had always had a temper.

"You _ left _ !" he shouted, "Just _ gone _ . We were afraid you'd _ died. _ Mother was distraught! Father was heartbroken! Just _ g-g-gone _!"

Crowley began to hiss, audible for a distance further than she should have been. The star man raised his shield, eyeing her uncertainty. Red-gold man's palms had begun to glow, although he did not aim them yet. The uniformed humans around them seemed dubious as well, watching the group. Some even reached hesitantly for their weapons. Thor's anger had burned away as fast as it had come. He just looked sad again.

A single clap broke the awkward stalemate.

"Excuse me!" Zira called, "This has been riveting, it really has, but we will be quite late if we do not go. So, I'm sorry, but-"

"No!" Thor cried, "My brother must stay. We will return to Asgard-"

"Excuse _ you _," Loki interrupted, finally able to bring himself to speak, "I'm never going back there again."

Thor stared at him,

"What? Everyone has missed you! Our parents have been so worried-"

"_ Your _parents," Loki snarled.

"Is that what this is about?" Thor scoffed, "Surely you know it doesn't matter." 

"_ Doesn't matter _ ?" Crowley hissed, "You don't spend centuries lying about something that _ doesn't matter _."

She had moved, suddenly in his face and jabbing at his stupid breastplate. Thor grabbed her hand and smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant one. The threat was implied, but very clear.

"My lady," he simpered, "What is going on between the Princes of Asgard is private business-"

Crowley sneered, reversed his grip and bent the wrist backward. Thor looked supposed for a moment, likely because he had assumed her human and physically much weaker than him, but soon ripped his hand out of her grip. She let him. He braced, standing to his full height, chest out and hammer coming up sightly. Electricity clung in the air, charged and humid. 

"_ Excuse me _!" Zira cried. The static hanging in the air cleared; the storm Thor was summoning abruptly banished out of existence. The angel rested his hands on his hips and Loki could tell his school teacher lecturing voice was about to come out.

"Excuse me," he repeated, "But there will be no more fisticuffs this evening!"

Everyone stared at him. Thor, thankfully, didn't appear to notice the banishment of his storm. But then again, he had never really noticed how his anger influenced his powers. 

Loki did not want to be here.

This confrontation was everything he had hoped to avoid. The thought of returning to Asgard made him sweat, made his stomach curl up in nauseous knots. But the situation was escalating. Thor had held on to reason for longer than he'd expected but would soon resort to dragging Loki where he wanted him to go. Zira and Crowley would certainly attempt to intercede. Loki didn't doubt their skill but he didn't think he could watch them fight his bro-Thor. He couldn't watch them fight Thor.

"Hey!" interrupted the metal man, his helmet gone from his head, "This family feud is fun, really, but SHIELD's finished packing the bag of cats. Also did you seriously just say _ fisticuffs _?"

Zira ignored him but Thor looked surprised. He must have forgotten completely what they'd been here for. 

"Great!" mocked Crowley, "You go do that and _ we'll _ go home."

"I will not leave without my brother!" Thor hollered.

Crowley snarled, face turning as red as her hair. She opened her mouth and Loki just knew whatever she said was going to escalate the situation even further.

"Why don't you three come with us?" the star man interjected.

Everyone blinked at him. A man in a dark suit had slid up at some point, although Loki was surprised that he somehow hadn't noticed. He pulled out a phone.

"I'll clear it with Fury." 

The silence was tense, broken only by the purr of car engines and emergency sirens. Loki found that he had to make a conscious effort to breathe. Crowley was still panting angrily, engaged in a baleful glaring contest with Thor. The metal and star men were shifting around awkwardly, avoiding the eyes of any of the feuders. Zira had returned to wringing his hands, although he had also angled himself perfectly between the two groups.

The suited man cleared his throat,

"The Director said, and I quote, 'Get that fucker back here now. I don't care how.' So it looks like you're cleared to come with."

"We are not detained," Zira said. It should have been a question but his tone made it a statement. His steely-eyed stare was also in direct contrast with his mild tone.

"We are not detained," he said again, "And are free to leave as we wish, Mr…?"

"Agent Coulson," the suit returned, "We'd like some witness statements but we can not prevent you from leaving."

"Excellent!" Zira chirped with a broad smile once again on his face. Loki could tell his mood shifts were giving the others whiplash. He and Crowley were used to it. They followed reluctantly as Zira politely steered the whole group to their odd transport. Before long, they were all strapped in. Thor tried to sit with Loki, but the star man managed to steer him to the other end of the plane. Loki ended up closest to the door, Crowley jamming him into the corner. Zira was a deceptively mild-mannered shield wall between them and the others. No one talked.

Loki was getting tired of awkward silences.

\-----------------------

Tony was getting tired of awkward silences. The Iron Man armor didn't allow him to sit easily, so he stood, boots magnetized to the floor, surveying the cabin they'd all crammed themselves into. Their three guests had smashed themselves as far away from Thor and as close to the exit as possible. Rogers kept having to tug Point Break back into his seat. Coulson had joined Romanoff in the cockpit.

Tony muted his external speakers and had JARVIS pull up the files Coulson had given him last night. He didn't need to reread them but he was pretty sure Thor's 'New Mexico Incident' had contained a footnote about his brother going missing. He also set up a background search on Loki and his compatriots. He had no doubt SHIELD was also running a search but the great advantage of JARVIS was that he could compile information, follow leads, and draw conclusions instead of just regurgitating what the exact search parameters found. It made his background checks much more effective and informative. The fact that Romanoff's false identity had passed muster only made him refine the program even further. And once he got into the Helicarrier, it wouldn't matter because he'll be so far into their system they'll have to wipe the data, delete the program and rebuild it entirely from scratch to get him out.

Rogers cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I know we got off on a bad start," he said, "I'm Steve Rogers."

The bowtie smiled politely. Tony didn't trust it. He could tell that Rogers was falling for it hook, line, and sinker but he'd been raised by people obsessed with their public image. He knew a PR smile when he saw one.

"Nice to meet you all, I'm sure," said bowtie, "I am A.Z. Fell. This is Crowley."

He gestured to the woman Tony had privately been referring to as Black Widow Sr. in his head. Was Crowley her first or last name? He almost asked but Fell continued to talk.

"You have, of course, already met Loki," he trailed off. Silence fell again.

"Tony Stark," he said, just to break it. He was so over these awkward pauses. He braced, ready for the phase where people fawned or cursed at him. Fell did neither.

"Pleasure to meet you!"

He sounded utterly sincere and as if he had no idea who Tony was. He may have been English, but Stark Industries was known worldwide. It was bizarre. Tony felt almost offended. 

"Don't be surprised," drawled the woman for the first time in minutes, "He can't even operate a smartphone."

Fell made an inquiring noise. She smirked and it was the first kind expression Tony had seen on the lady yet. She leaned over toward Fell,

"He's a businessman, angel. Technology company. Top of the line, best in the industry."

She pulled a phone out of...somewhere and flapped it at him. Tony made a note to have JARVIS hack it too. She smirked at him over Fell's head, this time with less fondness and more menace.

"He made weapons," she continued, "Until he got kidnapped by terrorists using his own tech against him. Decided to _ turn over a new leaf _ or something. Shut down his manufacturing plants and started investing in the medical and clean energy industries."

Tony rolled his eyes under his helmet. He didn't know if she was trying to upset him or just intimidate him, but he'd learned a long time ago how to ignore public opinion about him. If he hadn't, he wouldn't ever be able to leave his house.

"Oh!" breathed Fell, "I'm so sorry that happened to you. Bless you for investing in your planet and fellow man. It's important."

Your planet? 

He sounded sincere, although nobody could mean something like that. No one was that nice. Everyone had an angle. Tony felt like he was being patted on the head but in a comforting way. It should have been patronizing. It always had been before. His father and Obie. Every tabloid praising his 'change of heart.' Tony hated how the angry child in him perked up at even the slightest hint of praise.

She was still smirking at him. He stuck his tongue out at her. Childish, maybe, but he was wearing his helmet. She wouldn't ever know and it made him feel better.

She stuck her tongue out. It was quick and gone in the next moment but she had definitely done it. Creepy. It must have been a coincidence. 

Tony mentally shook himself, putting angry lady and her spouse or whatever out of his mind. He'd soon know every skeleton in their closets. He turned instead to the science journals and articles he'd pulled up on thermonuclear astrophysics.

No one said anything for the rest of the ride. 

\-----------------------

The quinjet landed on top of the Helicarrier. Thor immediately tried to catch up with Loki, but the captain suggested he wait. He was tired of waiting. Coulson offered them a room to clean up, although they only had SHIELD issue clothing to change into. 

"Loki!" said Thor, but Steve interfered again.

"Hey, Thor. Let them go."

Thor opened his mouth.

"No, buddy, hear me out," Steve whispered, "He doesn't trust you. I won't pretend to know all the details but I can tell he's skittish. Extend your trust and consideration to him and he might give the same back to you."

"But what-" Thor asked, "What if he runs away again?"

"Then we'll find him again," Steve shook his head, "You can't make him want to stay. But you can let him know that he _ can _stay."

Thor nodded, miserable but determined to try. Loki _ would _come home with him.

"Good man," Steve clapped his shoulder. They watched together as their guests were led off into the interior by Coulson. Romanoff directed the rest of them to a meeting room, filled mostly with a large round table. Director Fury and Maria Hill were already there.

"So?" he said.

"Sir," the captain responded, "We captured the Other, but we don't know why he was at that party. He had a bunch of hired goons, all human or at least they looked it."

"Iridium!" Stark cried as he walked into the room, sans suit but accompanied by Banner.

"What?" barked Fury.

"Iridium! He'd need it to stabilize the Tesseract enough to create another portal."

"Is that what he's doing?" asked Romanoff.

"Has to be," Banner replied, "He's all but said he's here to conquer us. What do you need to conquer?"

"An army," intoned Thor.

Exactly, Point Break," said Stark, pointing dramatically. "Glowstick's gonna bring his human-smashing posse straight through before we can say 'cosmic cube'."

"Do we know where?" Fury said.

Banner answered,

"No. The spear emits a similar energy signature that seems to resonate with the Tesseract, but it will take time to triangulate a location."

"Get on it, both of you," Fury ordered.

"What about Loki?" Thor interrupted.

Fury turned slightly, eyeing him over.

"What about him? We don't have time to deal with your family drama. I've got him and his buddies in supervised quarters but there are more important things to worry about."

Thor puffed up, gripping Mjolnir.

"Loki is a Prince of Asgard and has been missing for over a year. He must be returned."

"Thor!" exclaimed Steve, sounding disappointed. Fury laughed,

"I don't give a damn what you do with your citizens as long as Earth doesn't get hurt in the process. Clap him in irons and drag him back. He isn't a citizen here."

"Actually," interrupted Stark, waving a hand. The display built into the center of the table lit up and the holographic image of some form of Midguardian identification popped up. It had Loki's face on it.

"His citizenship is debatable. He has legal UK paperwork confirming him a naturalized citizen. Could be faked but if it is, it's very very good."

"Do naturalism laws apply to extraterrestrials?" asked Romanoff.

"Like I said," Stark shrugged, "Debatable. There are no on-the-books laws including them here or in the UK, but there are also no laws specifically _ excluding _ them either. Lots of wiggle room if you've got a good lawyer."

"Do you know a lot about wiggling around the law, Mr. Stark?" asked Steve accusingly.

"About as much as you, Capsicle," Stark retorted. It looked like another argument was about to break out but Thor was distracted, staring intently at the legal document.

"Loki C. Fell?" he asked, offended. Loki would forsake the honor of being an Odinson?

Stark and Steve looked away from each other. Stark gestured again, pulling up more paperwork and pictures.

"Uhhh yeah. This is just the preliminary stuff I found but he has no birth certificate, although he seems to have some sort of legal exception for its absence. He's listed as 20 years old, presumably born in 1992. He's been legally sponsored and legally adopted by a Mr. Az-Azir-whatever Fell, who owns an antique bookshop and an Mx. Anthony J. Crowley, who's listed under the vague description of 'consultant'."

"Mx?" asked Steve.

"It's an honorific used in place of Mr., Miss or Mrs. by someone who doesn't want to be referred to by those gendered honorifics, either because they don't want to reveal their gender or because they fall under a spectrum of non-binary or genderqueer identities."

Steve still looked confused. 

"I'll get you some modern LGBTQIA+ resources, Cap. Surely there were gay soldiers in WW2?"

"Well, yeah," Steve mumbled, "It's just nice to see people feel safe enough to talk about it."

"Yeah," agreed Stark. There was silence for a few moments before Romanoff spoke up,

"I wonder if their gender is sunglasses?"

Everyone burst out laughing. Even Fury's lips twitched a bit. It was a welcome break to the tension. Eventually, they all dispersed. Stark and Banner departed to the lab while Fury, Hill, and Romanoff slipped off to do who knows what. Steve stayed with Thor, who went back to looking like a kicked puppy. It had been a long day and it looked like it was going to get longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this chapter surprised me! The first and third scene were planned but I only added the middle because I was tired of trying to find descriptive names for characters. I tried to imply they all introduced themselves to each other so I could stop but that was just awkward and jarring. Then Tony dumped his daddy issues on the floor.  
This is probably all your getting until after Christmas because retail hell is in full swing.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit my Tumblr!  
https://celestialmoondragon.tumblr.com/


End file.
